


Sermon

by Midnight_inParis



Series: Swan Song [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Aurora-centric, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Child Abuse, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Family tension, Gen, I will slip Ace the Bathound in as much as physically possible, Jason Todd deserves better, Jason Todd has friends, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd is an awkward bean, Jason deserves healthy teenage relationships, Jason-Centric, M/M, Multi, N52 Jason Todd, POV Aurora Stathos, POV Jason Todd, Warnings May Change, fight me susan, heathers: the musical, with some tweaking here or there on the author's part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_inParis/pseuds/Midnight_inParis
Summary: Jason Todd knows he's a black sheep. He understands, he get's it, really he does.He's Robin, the Boy Wonder - he kicks criminal butt on the nightly. He doesn't need "friends" or to "fit in".  He's more than content with knowing that his purpose is greater than simply scoring the winning goal in the lacrosse championship or taking some stuck up heiress to Prom.But despite his steeled resolutions about what he does and doesn't need, no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to stop noticing the girl in his English class with the pretty eyes and dark bruises and wondering.





	1. Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is my AO3 version of my story on my fanfiction profile (Midnight-InParis9) because you never want all your eggs in one basket, lemme tell you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or the characters created by DC, only my own characters and plot.
> 
> Here we are again folks! A new beginning, a new story, a new genre!
> 
> I’ve been a comic fan since I was a kid, and I love Batman, the characters are diverse and beautifully developed.
> 
> And yet my love Jason Todd never gets enough love, thus this story.
> 
> This story will deal with domestic and emotional abuse, please do not read if it triggers you in any way.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy, here’s the first chapter of Sermon.
> 
>  
> 
> These are my words, this is my voice, this is my Sermon
> 
> \- James Arthur, Sermon

* * *

 

If there was one thing Jason Todd hated, it was waking up at six in the morning on a Monday with seven stitches in his lower abdomen.

Mondays, as a rule, were the worst day of the week.  But the Monday that dawned exactly one week after Labor Day was particularly hellish for a plethora of reasons in Jason’s sleep-addled brain.

Firstly, it was ass-o-clock in the morning and he was _awake_ which his dearly abused circadian rhythm was protesting loudly.

Secondly, he had _just_ fallen into bed not even two hours prior and not even a boat-sized mug of Alfred’s strongest brewed coffee could make him function at something even close to 80%. 

He had insisted to Bruce that he could handle a patrol of West Harlow before bed, and the Bat, to his credit, had agreed with palpable reluctance and an insistence that his protégé turn in _before_ the clock at City Hall struck one. 

In his defense, he couldn’t have known about the arms deal the two would stumble upon during their seemingly quiet patrol that shredded that condition.  Nor could the Dark Knight have foreseen the ebony haired teen getting his ass handed to him several times over when one of the hoodlums they were trying to apprehend pulled a military-grade tactical knife and slashed Robin across the pelvis with it.

By the time the Dynamic Duo had returned to the Batcave, it was well past three in the morning and Jason was starting to see spots from the blood loss.

Alfred had stitched him up and Bruce had carried him towards his room – despite _loud_ protests – and somewhere in between he had fallen asleep (or unconscious, it was anyone’s guess really).

He figured he slept through his alarm when a gentle but firm shaking of his shoulder roused him from the depths of slumber.

“-first day of Junior Year, Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice filtered in through his haze of sleep and the next thing he knew he was accosted by early morning sunshine.

“ _Jesus_ , Alfred.” Jason groaned loudly and burrowed under one of his pillows to escape the burning light.  Or rather tried to burrow as the moment he twisted around a sharp pain prodded him from his lower stomach and he froze, hissing in pain. 

The aged butler tutted his disapproval from the edge of the bed before swift fingers removed the pillow that obscured Jason’s discomfort.

“If it wasn’t so imperative that you be present for the first day of the school year I’d have you on bed rest for a week.”

“For once, I’m with you on that one, Alfie.” Jason ground out through a clenched jaw, hefting himself out of bed with a few mumbled curses. 

“Knowing the full capacity of your distaste for being confined to a flat surface for longer than six hours, that in it of itself is a minor miracle, sir.”

Alfred hovered behind his youngest charge as the teenager shuffled to the bathroom, his sharp gaze searching for any excuse to fuss. 

Flicking on the light in the bathroom, Jason winced and resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his hand before wincing further as he took in his reflection.

“Well I look like death warmed over.” He muttered, scowling at the multiple bruises and lacerations that littered his torso and arms.  Not to mention the puckering red wound that peeked over the top of his flannel pajama pants, three of the seven stitches glaring at him.

“An astute assessment, sir, but I believe the expression is ‘death warmed _up’_.” Alfred corrected, still standing behind against the bathroom wall.

Jason paused, mid-toothpaste squeeze, and turned to give the butler a look.

“No it is not.”

“Indeed it is, Master Jason.”

“Alfred, death warmed _up_ makes no sense.  You aren’t nuking death in a microwave.” 

“By the time this little repartee is _over,_ there will be no time for breakfast to be brought _up._ I therefore suggest you concede and bow out to finish your morning routine, sir.” Alfred glanced at his watch before giving Jason an impatient raise of his brow. 

Jason narrowed his eyes suspiciously before turning back to the mirror. 

“Lording breakfast over my head as a way to win an argument, not cool, Alfred.” He paused again, a thought dawning on him.

“Bring breakfast _up_?  What, is it my birthday?”

“Not since the last time I checked, sir, but I did take the liberty of deciding to have you break the fast in your room this morning, yes.” 

“Phy?” Jason questioned around his toothbrush, pointedly ignoring Alfred’s disapproving look in favor of spitting out his excess toothpaste-foam.

“The time it would take you to descend the stairs, eat a wholesome meal and return to your rooms to collect whatever miscellaneous items you will have forgotten would put you too far behind schedule to be punctual for your first day of school.” He handed Jason a hand towel after the former had finished rinsing his mouth.

“Now then,” he began after Jason had risen from the marble bowl. “On the issue of your morning ablution.”  He produced a roll of what Jason realized was plastic wrap.

It took him a moment to put it together, after Alfred glanced at the shower behind him and then at his newly stitched wound, clarity dawned on Jason and he groaned.

“For fu-”

“I’d watch your language, Master Jason, lest you’d like to earn a few more stitches.”

_Only on a freaking Monday._

 

* * *

 

 “If you keep glowering like that, your face is going to get stuck.”

 Jason turned from the window of the town car to give Bruce, who hadn’t even looked up from his paper, a flat look.

“Coming from the king of the brooding stare, that is hysterical.”

Usually, a remark like that coming from Jason before nine in the morning wasn’t all that noteworthy.  However, the tone in which the teenager had spat the remark, as if they were poisonous enough to burn a hole in the upholstery, had Bruce looking up over the paper at his adopted son, who deflated a little at the unamused stare.

“Jay-” Bruce sighed, laying the newspaper across his lap to see the youth to his left fully.

Before he could expand further, Jason slumped back into his seat with arms folded across his chest. 

“I know, I know, ‘watch your tone, Jason.  Don’t slouch, Jason.  Try to act like you belong in polite society, Jason.’”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened at the pointed words and he fully abandoned his paper, turning to study the teenager closely.

“Do you want me to guess why you’re upset or would you rather spare us both a pointless twenty seconds and tell me yourself?” the vigilante questioned after a few beats of silence. 

A muscle in Jason’s jaw ticked and to anyone else the movement would have been invisible but Bruce knew the youth before him well enough to see it as a white flag of surrender slowly unfurling.

Bruce waited, his patience rewarded when Jason finally let out a long breath and kicked his feet out in front of him, choosing to study the laces of his uniform shoes than meet his father’s eyes.

“Michael Dennst sent out a blast text to the whole grade this morning with a link to the stupid Labor Day party story in the Gazette.  I haven’t even set foot on campus and I’m already a laughing stock.” Jason grumbled, looking like the human embodiment of misery.

Bruce winced inwardly.  _I knew that garden party was a bad idea from the beginning_.

Due to the heightened activity of Bruce’s ‘after hours’ duties, the socialite side of his life had taken a hit and the Gotham elite had begun to voice their unhappiness.  An unhappy elite made for a suspicious elite, and thus Bruce had decided to throw an end of summer Labor Day garden party as a bone to throw to the horde. 

Bruce knew of Jason’s strong dislike of the one-percenters that flocked to these types of events, not to mention the events themselves, but after nearly five years of being in the middle of the fray that was the Gotham elite he had learned to keep a lid on his temper and play the part of the grateful pauper turned prince.

And then it had all gone to ruin at the damn garden party.

It hadn’t been Jason’s fault, really, it hadn’t.  But when three older, intoxicated teenagers decided to gang up on the incognito-Robin in a quiet corner of the Wayne gardens, his survival instincts had kicked in and he had sent all three running, _crying,_ for their mothers.

Which had felt pretty great in the moment, and pretty damn stupid the moment one of them blabbed to their city councilmen father and he demanded Jason be arrested on assault charges.

Despite the security footage of the confrontation _clearly_ showing Jason defending himself and pointedly _not_ instigating the fight, not to mention the only superficial bruising on all three older boys and Jim Gordon actually laughing the three families out of his office when they demanded he put the Wayne boy behind bars, the tabloids had eaten it up and by the end of the holiday weekend Jason’s name had been dragged through the mud several times.

It was a PR nightmare, and despite Bruce’s best efforts to shield his son from it, he couldn’t filter everything and Jason had all but become a recluse the week before school started, becoming noticeably moodier the closer the first day loomed.

Bruce felt a wave of conflicting indignation and empathy as he processed Jason’s explanation. 

Empathy firstly for his son because he knew how much Jason _wanted_ to like school.  He loved to learn and loved to better himself but was constantly being ostracized by his classmates for where he came from before he had been adopted into the Wayne family.   Making friends seemed to be impossible when everyone around him was either a classist asshole or were too intimidated by the Wayne name to make an effort.

Secondly indignation, because who in their right _mind_ screwed with a _Wayne_?”

“I’m technically not a Wayne.  But solid effort there, old man.”

Bruce jerked back into full awareness to realize he had said that out loud, and Jason was giving him a partly bemused, partly bitter smirk.

Instead of opening the can of worms that was the issue of Jason’s legal last name (“I’m not hyphenating shit, Bruce.  Only assholes hyphenate their last names.” “Language.” “I’m not wrong.”), Bruce steered the conversation in a more productive direction.

“Did you get this text message too?” the Wayne heir questioned gesturing at the cell that Jason had been clutching in a white knuckled grasp ever since they had gotten into the car, his hand reaching for his own phone with the names of the several defamation lawyers he had on retainer coming to mind. 

Jason gave him a look that roughly translated to ‘are you a complete imbecile?’ 

“ _No_.” he said, dragging out the vowel like he was explaining something to a child.  “Colin Huang texted me a screenshot.  We were lab partners in Physics last year and I saved his ass on the final project.  He felt bad and decided to clue me in, I guess.” Jason shrugged and turned back to glaring out the window.

Not for the first time, Bruce noted how comparatively easier it was to track down and bring in delusional criminals every night than it was to find the right words to comfort his seventeen year old.

“Are you more upset about the article itself or the mass text?” was what he went with in the end.  Tackle two issues at once.

Jason shrugged again, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

 _He needs a haircut._ Bruce mused, before snapping back into focus as the blue-eyed teen began to speak.

“I don’t know, they’re equally shi-” He glanced up to the front of the town car, where Alfred was peering at him with a patient yet unnerving stare, “annoying.  I knew everybody was going to be talking about it, but I figured I’d be spared from the talk of people who weren’t actually there.  Not wanting to admit they tune into gossip and all that.” He waved a dismissive hand through the air, but Bruce could see how much it still upset him.

He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, squeezing gently in a comforting gesture.

“They’re just words, Jay.”

The defeat that simmered in Jason’s gaze when he turned to meet his eyes broke Bruce’s heart, as did the words that his son murmured as the car rolled to a stop outside Gotham Academy.

“I’d vote for sticks and stones at this point, B.”

 

* * *

 

For some high schoolers having their classmates, upper and lower classmen alike, skittering out of their way as they strode down the hallway was something enviable, a sign of power.

For Jason, it was a prologue to just how shitty his junior year of high school was kicking off to be.

After scaring some freshmen – unintentionally, of course – away from his locker and shoving his books as calmly as possible into their designated place, Jason set off in the direction of his first period – Eleventh Grade AP English. 

He had spent an entire afternoon at the Manor practically bouncing from room to room with exuberance when the schedules had been mailed out.  Eleventh Grade AP was the only course in the entire school that offered Shakespeare, Doyle, Fitzgerald _and_ Austen in one class and Jason had been waiting practically since the day he started high school to take the class.

He was even beginning to forget the sting of the prior twenty minutes when he opened the classroom door, just as the warning bell sounded.

The second he stepped through the doorway the chatter that had been brewing came to a screeching halt, similar to the cacophonous kind of way an orchestra stops playing without being cued to.

Fifteen sets of unwelcoming eyes bored into his body and it took all of his training, from the street and from Robin, to not turn on his heel and walk away from the bullshit that his day had become.

Instead, Jason schooled his expression into that of bored neutrality and loped his way to the back row of desks, ignoring the murmuring that had picked up as he went.

“Who let the street rat back in the building?” One girl – Angela Martin - stage whispered to her seat partner as Jason took his seat.

The guy, Jason thought his name could be Eric, just snorted and fixed him with a look of contempt before replying at the same volume.

“His daddy paid his way out of the gutter, Angie.  You know how these things go when it comes to Bruce Wayne, he writes a check and gets to do whatever the hell his candy ass comes up with.” Eric sneered, and the students surrounding him dissolved into haughty laughter.

 _Lashing out makes it worse, keep your mouth shut Todd.  They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.  You’re Robin, Boy Wonder, and could hand any of these stuck up rich kids their asses without even trying._ Jason chanted to himself, eyes averted towards the windows, trying to keep a handle on his already precariously balanced temper.

He was so focused on checking his anger, he didn’t notice the new addition to the class room.

“Oh, you don’t want to sit _there_.”

Jason’s gaze snapped back to Angela, and then followed her eye line to the person standing next to him.

He hadn’t even heard the girl come in.  She was short, even standing next to him she looked small, and pretty with long chestnut hair and eyes the color of bluebells. 

The girl paused, one hand on the chair next to Jason and the other clutching a messenger bag resting lightly on the desk.  She looked confused, and a little alarmed as all the attention in the room turned to focus on her, and her cheeks bloomed with color. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know it was taken.” She apologized, shifting with the awkward pause that followed her statement.

Angela broke the brief silence with a chattering laugh.

“Oh, it’s not, the company is a bit… _uncouth_ , if you know what I mean.”

Jason rolled his eyes as Angela and Eric’s cronies erupted into quiet laughter again.

He snuck a peek at the brunette to his left to find her still staring at the other girl, now with more wariness than confusion.

“I don’t follow.”

Angela rolled her eyes this time, and opened her mouth to shoot something probably catty back, when her eyes wandered to the label of the messenger bag laying on the table and she froze.

“You’re Aurora Stathos?”

For the third time in five minutes, the classroom fell silent as Angela’s question hung in the air.

The brunette – Aurora, apparently – colored a deeper shade of pink and covered her messenger bag with her burgundy uniform jacket.

“Y-yeah, that would be me.”

All of Alfred’s etiquette and socio-political lessons that had been hammered into Jason’s brain since he was twelve and new to the Wayne household kicked into muscle memory as everything Jason knew about the name Stathos floated to the top of his mind.

 _Stathos family; originally from Coast City, owners of Stathos Inc. – fibers manufacturers.  Supply diverse fabric materials from Chinese silk to high-end fashion designers to synthetic skin prototypes to medical research facilities.  In the one percent of one percent._ He recited to himself.  He didn’t remember hearing about any Stathos members moving to Gotham, but then again he had been a little preoccupied as of late to soak up that particular tidbit.  It would have had to been recent, he deduced, because Bruce hadn’t mentioned anything about another tycoon family moving to the area. 

“Sit with us, Stathos, we wouldn’t want you feeling uncomfortable on your first day.” Eric’s voice broke Jason’s thought process, and he gave the other boy a flat look.

“If you don’t want her uncomfortable you’d be directing her to the other side of the room instead of staring at her chest.” Jason snarked and Eric’s lip curled into a snarl.

“Shut up, sewer slime.”

Jason actually laughed at the attempted dig. 

“Aw, Eric I was so hoping you’d become creative with your insults in the three months I was blessed with your absence.”

“Guess you’ll have to get used to disappointment.”

“I’ve been forced to look at your ugly mug every day for the past three years, believe me I’m used to it. 

A choked sort of giggle sprouted up next to Jason, and to his complete shock the formerly silent new girl began to laugh.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt but, he’s funny.” The brunette kept giggling, gesturing to Jason as her shoulders continued to shake.

Jason almost started laughing himself when he saw the way Eric’s face fell and the shock that colored Angela’s face. 

She was the first to recover, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed in displeasure.

“Aurora, come sit with us.” The blonde girl patted the empty seat next to her as if baiting a lapdog.  It was almost a demand, and one that Jason thought was a little outrageous for somebody who hadn’t even given their name yet.

The final bell cut through the conversation like a knife, and at that moment Mr. Mathers swept into the classroom.

“Good morning everyone, take your seats.” The aged schoolteacher greeted them brusquely and turned to the black board at the front of the room.

With little more than a not-so-apologetic shrug, the Stathos girl plopped down into the chair next to Jason and placed her bag on the floor before turning to face him. 

“Hi.” She chirped in a whisper as Mathers began roll call. 

Jason stared at her a moment before allowing a tiny, almost friendly smile onto his lips. 

“Hi.”

“So, was he really staring at my chest?” she murmured, tilting her head in the direction of a still glowering Eric.

“Only when you weren’t looking.”

She hummed in understanding before sticking her hand out.

“Aurora Stathos, pleased to meet the uncouth but thankfully un-creepy company.”

Jason wondered if he should be offended or not, but the bright glint of mischief in her eyes threw him more in the direction of not, so he placed his hand in hers and shook.

“Jason Todd, the pleasure is all mine.”

Aurora opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak Jason’s heightened senses picked up on an object hurtling at their heads, sailing through the air.

Without having to really think about it, Jason grabbed one of his books and batted the wadded-up paper ball away from where it would have made contact with Aurora’s head.  He heard Eric and one of his friends curse lowly as the paper wad bounced off into a corner, away from its intended target – Jason. 

What he also hadn’t been thinking about until the moment a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his lower abdomen with the quick motion of deflecting the paper wad, were the stitches he had so blissfully forgotten about. 

It wasn’t until Aurora gasped loudly that he realized what exactly he had done, his gaze shooting downwards towards where a large red stain was quickly blooming on his dress shirt. 

_Motherfu-_

“You’re bleeding!” 

Awesome.


	2. Give Me Your Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Aurora make morbid jokes, Nurse Karen is suspicious and Aurora returns something precious and By Jove Jason might just make a friend.

* * *

 

The more he thought about it, the more Alfred's threatened weeklong bed rest became appealing.

After Aurora's shout had brought attention to the fact that he had torn at least two of his stitches,  _like a moron_ , Jason had been hastily excused from Mather's class despite his rising temptation to protest.

This was the one  _freaking_ class he actually wanted to be in, but the aged English teacher, whom had had Jason in years previous, ordered him to the nurse's station to get 'whatever the hell you did to yourself this time' checked out. He promptly returned to the blackboard.

Then Aurora had volunteered to take him to the nurse, her eyes wide and face drawn with concern as Jason began to assemble his things to leave.

Before he could brush her off – he could damn well walk himself to the office, thank you very much - Mr. Mathers had agreed and told the brunette to make sure her bleeding classmate got to the office safely.

Judging from the look leveled at him; the teacher remembered all to well Jason's famous tendency to ignore orders to go to the nurse even when he was bleeding or otherwise.

So off to the two went, the shorter girl carrying his backpack and Jason keeping pressure on his busted-open wound through a blood soaked palm.

They walked in relative silence, the hallways empty and silent save their shoes clicking on the linoleum and Jason's slightly labored breathing.

"So, are you actually bleeding or is this just the most extreme excuse to get out of class ever?"

Jason turned his head to give his walking partner a look.

He was met with wide blue eyes staring back up at him, her head tilted to the side like a questioning bird.

"I doubt it's the most extreme excuse  _ever_." He found himself replying.

"You spontaneously started bleeding, that is pretty extreme."

"Giving birth."

"…What?"

"Giving birth; if somebody gave birth just as an excuse to get out of class.  _That_ would be the most extreme excuse ever." Jason offered.

"Do you mean  _fake_ giving birth as a way to get out of class, or actually going into labor? Because I feel like the latter is more of a legitimate reason than an excuse." Aurora argued.

Jason actually found himself thinking on that one for a moment before responding, wondering how easy the conversation was. He didn't have many easy conversations, much less with people his own age.

"I guess that depends on if they knew they were going into labor before they got to class and just didn't tell anybody."

The shorter girl snapped her fingers. "Good point."

They lapsed into silence again, and Jason surprised himself at being the one to break it this time.

"I popped my stitches, by the way."

Aurora gave him another questioning tilt of her head.

"When I smacked the paper ball that guy threw, I turned too sharply and they popped. That's why I started bleeding." He elaborated.

"Oh." She winced in sympathy and Jason noticed her hand that wasn't carrying his bag flinch instinctively to her own stomach.

Instead of commenting on her likely subconscious action, he shrugged.

"It's not that bad, doc says I'll be healed up in a few weeks."

Well, Alfred had said that. Leslie would probably give him a full month just to punish him in her own passive-aggressive doctor way.

They had stopped walking having arrived outside the office but neither student made a move to open the door.

Their comfortable banter seemed to have ended and a shroud of awkward energy passed between the two. Jason fidgeted and reached out for his bag.

"Thanks for walking with me. Sorry you missed class." He murmured, taking his bag gingerly from her.

"It's okay, better than sitting alone and having to do any new girl ice breakers." She shrugged and Jason felt the corners of his mouth tip upwards in a grin.

"Glad to be of service then."

He adjusted his grip on his bag and took a step towards the door; almost disappointed their conversation was over.

“Thanks, again.” He trailed off, moving to turn the doorknob.  Aurora smiled kindly and gave him a little wave, moving back in the direction of Mather’s classroom.

“You’re welcome.  I hope you feel better, Jason.”

Weirdly enough, he was certain she meant it.

 

* * *

 

"School hasn't even been in session a full hour and you're already bleeding all over my new couch, Mr. Todd." Nurse Karen chirped as she finished applying the pressure bandage to Jason's gash. He shrugged his dress shirt – now stained with a rust red halo of drying blood- back over his shoulders with a wince, his abdomen giving a painful throb at the movement.

"What can I say, Karen, I make it a priority to see my favorite member of the admin office." Jason offered a sarcastic grin.

The middle-aged woman gave him a wry raise of her eyebrows, her expression amused but unconvinced.

"A simple 'hello' during free period would have been sufficient." She countered, packing the bandages and butterfly stitches neatly back into her red medical bag.

"And yet not nearly as dramatic."

Nurse Karen was undoubtedly one of his favorite parts of Gotham Academy. The tall African American woman was kind without being condescending, firm without being unfeeling and understanding without a hidden motive. Due to his Robin-ing after dark Jason was no stranger to the nurse's office, though he did try to make his visits about the more mundane of his injuries with a head or stomachache thrown in to avoid suspicion.

Truth was he simply enjoyed the quiet of the nurse's office and the welcoming presence of Nurse Karen, and would wander in even without a need for medical attention.

This, however, was not one of those visits.

"So what was it this time? Glass from a broken window, climbing pointed gates, juggling knives?" she questioned, turning to the small sink to wash her hands. Her tone was light, playful even, but the intensity of her dark eyes reflected in the mirror relayed a very different story.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was touched and a little guilty at her concern, but it didn't stop him from lying straight to her face.

"I fell onto one of the downed road signs near the Manor when the tire on my bike burst. Yield signs are extremely pointy I suggest steering clear of them." Jason grinned at his own humor, his gaze unwavering and confident.

_Liars look away_. Bruce had told him that the first time they had to rehearse a story due to one of Jason's injuries sustained while on patrol. So he kept his gaze steady and features calm and pretended not to feel the guilt stabbing him in the gut.

"Uh-huh."

Jason returned the nurse's now impatient expression.

"If you want to see the medical report I can call Dr. Thompkins and have her fax it over. She can attest to my inherent bad luck and coordination." Joining the stockpile of guilt towards the medical professionals in his life, Jason lied.

Leslie was used to writing faux-medical reports on behalf of the Dark Knight's sidekicks but wasn't quiet about how much she hated doing it. Still, he knew that if he called her and asked for a fabricated medical record, one would be delivered.

"I don't  _want_  a medical report." Nurse Karen expelled a breath through her nose and sat down in her plush office chair, removing her glasses in a tired gesture.

She didn't speak for a few moments, simply studying the bloodstain on Jason's shirt.

"You remind me a lot of my son when he was your age." She spoke in a quiet, fond tone while running the tips of her fingers up and down the rim of her glasses.

"Kind, smart, a little too smart for his own good. He could make a train wreck sound as mundane as the weather. He was constantly getting himself into some sort of trouble – a scrape here, a skirmish there, but he would always play it off with a smile and a roll of his eyes. 'Relax, Mama,' he'd tell me, 'Just a little bad luck.' I'd believe him and he'd go off and turn up the next time with a black eye or a broken wrist and say the same thing; 'Just a little bad luck.'"

The nurse's gaze lifted to meet Jason's, unbridled in their pain and regret.

"That bad luck ended up putting him in the morgue when he was twenty-one."

For all his training and experience, Jason could do nothing but stare, wondering where the once playful conversation had taken an unexpected turn.

"Jason," she took his hand gently. "My son didn't want to bother any one with the problems he was too busy denying to see the severity of and he  _lost_  his  _life_. He drowned before he could ask for help. I don't want to see the same thing to happen to you."

_And we're now in the danger zone._

Jason jerked his hand out of her grasp as if he had been burned.

"What exactly are you insinuating?" He knew  _exactly_  what she was insinuating, but did not want to be the first one to jump onto that sinking ship.

"If Mr. Wayne is hurting you in any-"

"My god, again with this abuse bullshit?" Jason cut her off, not having to feign his reaction to the topic now. "How many times do I have to tell you people that Bruce isn't smacking me around behind closed doors?"

"I pride myself on not being an idiot, Jason, and even if you are telling the truth I know you're not telling me something." The school nurse fired back, her tone concrete in her assessment.

_Yeah, I parade around at night in spandex with my split personality adopted father kicking the asses of some of the most disturbed Gotham has to offer. I'm sure that will fit_ real _well into the little 'evidence of abuse' file you have tucked away somewhere._

"What do you want me to say, exactly? That the reason I get myself into stupid situations and end up in the hospital half the time is because maybe being an idiot distracts me from the fact that I am a colossal screw up in all other aspects of my life?" Jason snapped his jaw shut, eyes wide.

_Well, that was unexpected._

Nurse Karen seemed to be thinking the same thing, her own expression shocked.

The two sat in uneasy silence, neither sure quite what to say after Jason's little explosion.

"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I didn't mean to upset you." The older woman finally ventured, her tone apologetic and tentative.

Jason could only shrug, suddenly too exhausted to manage a strong front.

"I'm used to it, everyone hears about the accidents and the injuries and they all assume it's insidious billionaire Bruce Wayne smacking around the poor street rats he's taken in. They never stop and think that maybe it's the strays that aren't so innocent."

If Nurse Karen was going to say anything else, she was cut off by the shrill screech of the school bell announcing the end of first period.

Jason hurriedly buttoned his shirt and shrugged on his uniform jacket, avoiding any and all eye contact with the woman still seated in front of him.

He hefted his backpack over his shoulder, and moved to the door.

"Thank you for your concern, Nurse Karen, but I'm late for class." He said coolly as he passed and then strode out of the room, leaving the silent nurse in his wake.

 

* * *

 

Jason shoved the door to the courtyard open with more force than strictly necessary, not giving it a backwards glance when he heard the metal frame smack into the brick next to it with a loud  _clang_.

He needed a damn cigarette, property damages be damned.

The teenager stormed his way across the lawn shoving through clusters of other students, too intent on his destination to be apologetic.

There was a small alcove of polar trees in the far corner of the courtyard in a secluded enough area that garnered little traffic save for other closet-smokers like himself. Gotham Academy had a strict contraband policy, but Jason had learned how to dodge those particular rules by second semester of his freshman year. It was free period for the juniors so he knew no one would be looking for him and fully intended to take advantage of his unsupervised free time.

His head throbbed from what was probably a mixture of lack of sleep and stress, his stitches, the ones that were still in, itched like hell and his entire abdomen ached in general. The whispers sprouting from the gossip mill about the garden party he had so blissfully let fall to the back of his conscious did nothing for his mood and he spent the rest of the day isolated, in too much pain to even attempt a positive attitude.

He was also a little upset (not that he would ever admit it  _out loud_ ) that the last he had seen of Aurora was in passing just before lunch, and then she had seemingly disappeared for the rest of the day. They didn't share any other classes than the one he had missed and their lockers were apparently nowhere near each other's.

After his blowout with Nurse Karen he had hoped to see a friendly face again, but as life seemed to enjoy shorting him at every opportunity, he did not get that chance.

All Jason really wanted to do was go back to the Manor and sleep for a year. But before that, he wanted a cigarette.

Taking out the dented pack of Marlboros he had stuffed into his pants pocket, Jason placed one of the white sticks between his teeth and fiddled with his lighter a moment before the paper finally caught and the sweet, sweet nicotine flooded his lungs.

_I don't want to see the same thing to happen to you._

Jason couldn’t help but let out a snort as he recalled the nurse’s statement.

“What the hell does she know, anyways?” he muttered to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Talking to yourself?”

“ _Fuck.”_ Startled, Jason cursed and nearly dropped his cig, choking on smoke as he looked up.

Aurora stood a few feet away, her messenger bag over one shoulder and a small smile on her lips as she watched Jason recover.

“Those things will kill you, you know.” She gestured to the cigarette still dangling from his fingers, slowly burning away unattended.

“If only.” Jason muttered, flicking the ash off the remaining butt.  He glanced up from the cinders to see that Aurora hadn’t moved and was still studying him with her ridiculously blue eyes.  Seriously, those things looked like twin cornflowers growing out of her irises.

“Do you need something?” he snapped, his temper still holding onto the majority of his brain. 

The girl in front of him simply raised an eyebrow at his tone, crossing her arms over her chest before sauntering a few feet closer and leaning against one of the trees.

"I found something of yours and thought you'd want it back." She said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a worn copy of  _To Kill A Mockingbird._ With a start, Jason realized it was  _his_ copy of  _To Kill A Mockingbird._

"I tried to find you during lunch but I, uh, got lost trying to find your locker." She admitted sheepishly.

Without thinking, he grabbed the book from her and tucked it into his chest protectively. The well-worn paperback was Jason's favorite book, and the first gift he had received from Bruce when he had moved into the Manor. It was closely treasured and Jason hardly ever let it out of his sight.

"Where did you find this?" he asked in a rush.  Aurora’s lip turned upwards, amused at his mother-henning of the book.  At any other time he would have felt embarrassed, but couldn’t conjure up the energy already devoted to checking over the paperback to care.

"You left it in English. I found it when I came back and wanted to return it after class but Nurse Karen said you had already left. I didn't know your schedule or where your locker was, otherwise I would have gotten it to you sooner."

The knowledge that his book had been left, unattended, in a room full of people he knew would take more pleasure in destroying it than he cared to think about made Jason's skin crawl.

" _Thank you_." He said sincerely. The brunette only shrugged, obviously unaware of the major panic attack she had prevented.

“I would have wanted somebody to do it for me.”

Jason kept to himself the thought that virtually _nobody_ in that school would have made even half the effort she was for a near total stranger. 

“How did you find me, anyway?” He changed the subject, taking another drag and exhaling the fumes.  He would have to spray some Febreze on his jacket before Alfred picked him up to mask the smell, but he reasoned the butler would figure it out one way or another. 

“I saw you booking it past me down the hallway when I was coming out of Physics, I tried yelling after you but you seemed pretty hell bent on getting wherever you were going.”

_Note to self: Ask Bruce for more observational training. Or just don’t get stupidly distracted again_.

“Well, you found me.” He added, a little lamely.

“That I did.” Aurora finished, still studying him from her place against the tree.

The two stood there a few more minutes, Jason finishing off his cigarette and Aurora rooted next to her tree.  Neither spoke until the distant ring of the bell broke their peaceful silence.

Jason flicked the butt of his now finished smoke into the dirt, grounding it into the soil and picking up his back, _How to Kill a Mockingbird_ in his other arm.

"Bye, Aurora." He gave her a little two-fingered wave, pushing off of the wall and starting towards the main building.

He got about three feet before she spoke again.

"Rory." She blurted and Jason paused, pivoting to face her.

"My name." she continued hastily. "I like Rory better than Aurora. Less…" she trailed off, searching for the correct word. "Pretentious. My friends call me Rory."

_Friends_.  Now that was a novel concept.

Aurora – Rory – offered him a hopeful smile.

Jason found himself nodding, his own lips twitching into what he hoped was a friendly smile.

"Well then I’ll see you around, Rory."

Rory grinned at him and he tried not to second-guess the warmth that the gesture held.

"See you, Jason."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aurora will now be referred to as Rory from this point on.


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory contemplates color scheme, we meet the Wicked Witch of the West Side, Jason shows his loyalty, Rory gets stuck in a broom closet with some interesting people, an after-school activity is unveiled and Rory, unknowingly, makes Jason's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far we’ve had two chapters that are almost completely Jason-centric - it’s time to step into Rory’s perspective.
> 
> I never meant this story to be so focused on Jason’s point of view, it just kind of happened organically and without my intention. What can I say, Jaybird is hilariously fun to write.

If there was anything in her sixteen years that Rory had come to despise to a startling degree, it was the color combination of _white_ and _beige_.

On their own, she didn’t mind them so much.  White reminded her of snow and her mother’s favorite old porcelain tea pot.  Beige reminded her of sandy afternoons at the beach and the color of her favorite sandals.

But after being forced to live amongst the white and beige décor that made up their new home in Gotham, Rory realized that together the two colors were possibly the most boring hues she had ever laid eyes on.

The carpets were beige.  The walls were white.  The kitchen was the only somewhat exciting room in the entire sterile feeling house, and that was simply because of the chrome finish on all the appliances and the gray flecked granite that adorned the counter tops.

Even her own room was white.  Her walls, desk, bathroom and even her bedsheets were the same cursed shade of daisy white as the rest of the house.

It was like living in a hospital, and Rory was glad for the large window in her bedroom that looked out into the green and brown patch of woods next to the home, giving her a reprieve from the monochrome reality that surrounded her.

It had been almost a month since they had moved to the gritty island of Gotham, and despite the unpacked boxes and furnished rooms, Rory still felt like the mass of the home would swallow her up.  Everything was too big, too polished, too _clean_.

Rory remembered the barely restrained look of horror when the family maid, Augusta, had seen the interior of the McMansion for the first time, no doubt horrified at the amount of bleach she would have to procure to keep the upholstery and surfaces clean.

 _Dad never should have let Calliope be in charge of picking out the décor_.  Rory huffed inwardly as she stared up at the ceiling above her, eyes scanning for any sort of flaw, a crack, a bubble of plaster.

But just like everything else in the house, it was perfect.  Spotless. 

Boring.

A series of hurried knocks on her door jarred Rory from her train of thought, and she sat up in bed as the door opened, her step-mother striding in without waiting for permission to enter.

_Speak of the devil and she shall appear._

“Aurora, Marcus is preparing breakfast and you are expected downstairs in no less than forty-five minutes.” Calliope dictated, more to her Blackberry than to Rory herself, as she strode to the foot of her bed.

“Good morning to you too, Calliope.  Please come in.” Rory grumbled, throwing the covers off with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

The black-haired woman looked up from scrolling through her work phone to give the teenager an unamused once over.

“It is far too early for that attitude of yours, young lady.” She peered closer at Rory’s face and gave a disapproving ‘tut’.  “No _wonder_ you’re breaking out, all that negative energy is going straight to your skin.” She glanced down at Rory’s waist and frowned.  “And your hips.”

Despite the fact that they went through echoes of the same song and dance _every_ morning, Rory still wrapped her arms around herself, curling the baggy sleep shirt tighter around her midsection and ducking her head in an instinctive moment of self-consciousness.

“I just woke up, I can’t look perfect all the time.” She muttered.

Calliope tittered a laugh and moved closer to the bed to place her hand under Rory’s chin and lift it gently, her perfectly manicured nails pinching Rory in the process.

“Oh, sweetie, I know.” The older woman dropped her step-daughter’s face as her Blackberry chimed, and the brunette rubbed at the pink marks now imprinted in her skin.

“Whoops!  Now you have only forty-minutes to get ready.  But don’t worry, I’ll keep Marcus busy so you can get those five minutes back,” She leaned forward and grinned like they were sharing a secret, “I know you need as much time as possible.”

With that, Calliope stood from the bed and pranced out of the room, leaving the disgruntled teenager frowning at the wake of the conversation.

Rory glanced at the clock and sighed, deciding she did in fact need to get ready or risk being late.

_Seven-twenty in the morning and I’m already feeling like a sack of trash.  Wonderful._

After showering, dressing and applying a minimal amount of makeup (Calliope wasn’t _totally_ wrong about her skin, she had to admit somewhat begrudgingly), Rory noted with a teensy bit of satisfaction that it had only taken her _twenty_ minutes before she was descending the stairs into the foyer.

She passed Augusta on her way down, the older woman scrubbing furiously at the formerly white carpet that was now stained a ruddy brown, cursing violently under her breath in Greek.

“Morning, Augusta.” She greeted and the maid looked up, pausing her scrubbing to spare the teen a soft smile.

“Good morning, αγγελάκι.” Augusta smiled as Rory squatted on the stairs next to her, inspecting the stain.

“Was Gavi tracking dirt up the stairs again?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as the strong scent of garden fertilizer wafted up from the ugly stain.

Augusta sighed, reaching for the near empty bottle of bleach next to her, wetting the mark again with the chemical.

“I tell him every time he comes in from the garden to take off his boots but _no_ ,” she snipped, resuming her efforts to rid the carpeting of the stain. “That man never listens to a _word_ I say.  I should throw him out onto the street with nothing but those boots to keep him company and see how he likes it.”

Gavi was the grounds keeper for the Stathos family, and Augusta’s husband of over a decade.  He was a tall, soft spoken man of east Asian descent who Rory remembered singing crooning melodies in his native tongue under the hot sun from the time she was barely up to his knee. 

He and Augusta, along with their chef Marcus and their butler Raymond, had travelled with the family all the way from Coast City to Gotham after her father’s company had relocated. 

They were a small added comfort in the alien territory that was Gotham city, and on days like this when Rory woke to the feeling of dread already settled deep within her stomach, seeing Augusta or Gavi or Raymond reminded her she wasn’t so totally alone.

Rory smiled at the woman before standing from the carpet.

“You don’t need to throw him out, just threaten to withhold a plate of your _moussaka_ and you’ll never see another speck of dirt inside the house again.”

It was well known inside the household that Gavi’s Achilles heel was his wife’s cooking, and that he would walk through fire if it meant he would get a plate of her famous pastitsio or spanakorizo. 

A catlike grin spread across Augusta’s lips and she pointed one labor worn finger at Rory.

“You, αγγελάκι, are as brilliantly devious as your mama, she was always helping me scheme.” The older woman laughed, and though her chest pinched with an echo of longing, Rory laughed along with her.

She bid the maid goodbye and continued down the staircase, taking a deep breath before she rounded into the kitchen.

Her step-mother was already seated at the smaller dining table located in the breakfast nook at the back of the room.  She was _tip-tap_ -ing away at her Blackberry with one hand while the other hand held a crystal champagne flute of orange, bubbly liquid that Calliope was taking leisurely pulls from between messages.  The omelet in front of her was completely untouched, forgotten and cooling on the porcelain dish.

Rory sat down, setting her schoolbag next to her chair and smiled when Marcus placed a plate in front of her.  She ate in silence, not offering up any conversation as Calliope finished off her Mimosa, waving Marcus over for a second.

Rory scowled at her eggs, her eyes flitting to her watch which glared the time up at her, the second hand merrily ticking away.

It was seven-forty-four in the morning and Calliope was already hitting the sauce.

Judging by Marcus’ own barely disguised scowl, Rory could guess his level of displeasure was about in line with her own.  And yet neither of them said anything as breakfast continued, not even when Calliope drained her second, and then her third and was working on her fourth flute when Haytham Stathos thundered into the kitchen.

Ever since Rory was a little girl, her father would always seem to make the ceiling shrink whenever he entered a room.  Haytham was a tall, thin man with a stern face and features so sharp it was as if someone had carved his face with a razor blade. 

She remembered a time when her father’s looming presence brought looming comfort, like a watchful guardian several city stories above her.  But the years had changed that comfortable gaze into a hawk’s scrutiny and Rory flinched every time they met eyes.  She spent a lot of time looking at her shoes when her father was around.

Calliope, seemingly pulled out of her booze-guzzling stupor by the arrival of her husband, beamed and rose from her chair with a slight wobble in her step.

“Haytham, darling!  I thought you had already left for the office!” she tittered, reaching up to peck him on the lips.

Rory pointedly looked down at her plate when her father pulled away from his wife and took a seat at the opposite head of the table, to Rory’s left.

“I’ve been on the Bludhaven call since six.  Coffee, and the Gazette, Marcus.” He directed towards the chef, who nodded and after readying the French press, left the room to seek out the Gotham Gazette that had been delivered that morning.

Rory busied herself with wolfing down the rest of her breakfast, trying her hardest to get out of the room as fast as physically possible.  She was afraid if she lingered too long she would be crushed underneath the resounding tension.

“Sit up straight, Aurora.”

Her father’s bark was like a bolt of electricity in her spine, and Rory could have sworn she heard a panel of cartilage crack in her back as she straightened her posture.

“I am always telling her to practice good posture.” Calliope threw across the table at Haytham, and then leaned towards Rory with a criminal gleam in her eyes. “Besides, slouching gives you stomach rolls.”

  _And champagne and orange juice gives you_ _a muffin top._ Rory threw back silently.

“Calliope, leave it.” Haytham barked and the black-haired woman sprang back with wide, innocent eyes like the child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Rory had to fight a smile, and she looked with gratitude in her gaze towards her father, but he refused to lift his eyes from the paper Marcus had slipped in front of him along with a large mug of black coffee.

Disappointed but not surprised, Rory made to lift her plate from the table and buss it for Marcus, but Calliope’s sudden vice like grip on her wrist stopped her in her tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, her simpering tone from just a moment ago vanishing like morning dew in strong sun.

“To clear my plate?” It came out as an exasperated question, and Calliope’s narrowed gray eyes almost made her flinch.

“You haven’t been excused from the table yet.” The older woman snipped, retracting her claws from Rory’s skin.

“Okay,” the teenager drew out the word, unsure of this sudden addition to their non-existent strict set of table rules.  “May I be excused?”

“No, we still have to discuss the Gotham Fall Classic next month.” Calliope leaned back in her seat, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

Rory glanced at her watch and nearly cursed before aiming a harsh glare back at her step-mother.  Calliope _knew_ any conversation longer than a few minutes would surely earn Rory a tardy.

“I’m going to be late for school.  Can we please talk about this tonight?” she ground out, throwing a half desperate look at her father, who simply continued reading his paper.

“Raymond will get you there in plenty of time.  Now, sit.”

She sat.

“Andrea called me this morning, Chatham arrived at Autumn Fox last night.”

Rory immediately perked up at that statement.   Chatham, her horse, had been left behind when they moved from Coast City to Gotham and only the promise of him following them once things got settled pacified Rory.

Calliope was still going on, now focused on her Blackberry. “She already has a list of shows that you two _must_ be at this year, and the Gotham Fall Classic is at the top of that list.”

Rory shrugged, not particularly concerned with the shows.  She liked to compete, but more than that she simply enjoyed riding.  She didn’t care much if she received a shiny ribbon or silver dish at the end of a round as long as she got to ride.

Calliope didn’t share her lax attitude, however, and scowled at Rory’s passive gesture.

“I’ll remind you of all the attention that winning the Gotham Fall Classic will earn for your father and the family business.  It will also make a good first impression on the circuit and those who frequent it.” She lectured, her dark eyes flitting up to meet Rory’s in a warning look.

Rory read the hidden-message loud and clear: _Don’t screw this up or else I won’t have any minions to dictate my petty whims to while I’m dragged to your stupid horse shows._

“Got it.” She ground in response.  “Anything else?”

Calliope studied her another moment before dismissing her with a passive wave of her hand.

“No. Go.” She spoke with the assumed authority of a duchess and Rory could have burst the Monet behind her stepmother into flame with the fury in her stare.

Instead, she simply picked up her plate in one hand and her schoolbag in the other, deposited her plate in the sink and moved to leave the room.

“Bye, guys.  Have a good day.”

The echoing silence of the kitchen was her only reply.

 

* * *

 

She really didn’t know how Raymond did it, but Rory was walking into her first period English class ten minutes before the final bell rang and without having run a single red light on their drive from the Stathos home to Gotham Academy.

Maybe half of the class were already milling around the classroom, chatting idly or reading through their copies of _The Great Gatsby_ , either to review for the expected pop quiz or skim reading to somewhat grasp what they should have known before stepping into the classroom.

As she made her way to her usual seat at the rear of the class, Rory pointedly ignored the heavy gazes of Angela Martin and her Greek chorus.  Angela had made it very clear that she remembered Rory’s rejection of her “advice” the first day of school and had quickly spread to the masses that Aurora Stathos was not to be invited into the inner circle.

While it didn’t help her blend into the crowd or find anyone to sit with at lunch, Rory didn’t mind her “exile” from Angela’s court all that much.  Being friends with a person like Angela or any of the people who groveled at her feet would only earn her a proverbial knife in the back at some point or another.

Popularity was a never-ending game of King of The Hill, and Rory had no interest in fighting to rule over an inconsequential mound of dirt for four years.

So, she simply ignored their judging eyes and just-loud-enough murmurings about “consorting with street trash” and walked past them, taking her seat next to the aforementioned “street trash”.

Jason barely glanced up from the book he had his nose buried in, not lifting his gaze as she set her bag down.

“Morning.” He mumbled, still focused on his book, and nearly smacked her in the face, not paying attention to how far he had extended his hand to give her a little wave in greeting.

“Morning.” She laughed, pushing his hand back towards him.  Rory peered closer at the cover of the book her seating partner was buried in, noticing it wasn’t the dark blue cover of their assigned text.

“ _David Copperfield?_ ” Rory said, her nose scrunching up in subtle distaste.

Jason lifted his gaze from the print in front of him for the first time since she sat down and gave her a funny look.

“Yeah, you’ve read it?”

Rory titled her head from side to side, a ghost of a wince on her face.

“Sort of.  It was an assigned book in my Language Arts class last year but I ended up using Cliffnotes halfway through.” She shrugged, and Jason looked like she had just spat on his shoes.

“You _Cliffnotes’d_ ‘ _Copperfield?_ ” he gaped at her.

“Yes…” she said slowly and Jason all but slammed his book shut, not bothering to mark his page, and turned in his seat to face her fully. 

“Why?”

Rory shrugged again, a bit surprised at the sudden reaction.  Jason loved books, that much was obvious over the few weeks she’d known him, but he was normally so laid back about almost everything.  Seeing him so serious took a moment to adjust to.

“Well, I’m not a huge fan of Dickens’ writing style.  It all feels like one long run on sentence and I exhausted just reading it.” She shrugged for a third time, because at that point it was all she could do, and watched in fascination as Jason’s expression morphed from wonder to thinly veiled horror.

“Are you okay?” she asked after a pause, wondering if she should be concerned at how pale he had gone.

“You don’t like Charles Dickens.  I feel like I should be asking you that question.” Was all he offered return.

Before Rory could respond – it was _totally_ fine to not like Charles Dickens – the second bell rang and Mr. Mathers strode in.

“Good morning, everyone.  Take your seats and clear off your desks except for a pencil.” He began the lesson quickly, writing out on the blackboard in large letters, _POP QUIZ: CHAPTER THREE._

Once the groaning had died down and all the quizzes had been turned in, Mathers pulled out a stack of books from the closet and set them down on his desk.

“As you all remember from Friday’s class, today we are going to assign texts for your midterm projects-yes, Miss Martin.” Mathers cut himself off as Angela raised her hand, his tone impatient.

“I missed class on Friday because I was sick, Mr. Mathers.  Would you mind going over the project again?” she asked, her tone simpering.

If Rory’s memory served, Angela looked in perfect health when she slipped by her halfway through second period on Friday with a large Starbucks coffee and a new Birkin bag hanging off her shoulder.

Mathers leveled an unamused stare at her and drummed his fingers on the polished wood of his desk.

“Did it occur to you during your absence to check the syllabus supplied for this class, which would coincidentally have the information you’re missing typed out in neat Times New Roman font, Miss Martin?” Mathers asked pointedly and Rory watched Angela’s cheeks flush.  Angela avoided his gaze and Mathers shook his head.

“Evidently not.  I expect students in my class to come to class prepared to learn, not with half-assed attempts to cover up incompetence.  The next time you decide that the work in my class is above you, you can save the rest of the class from having to stall for you to catch up and simply head for the door.” He said coldly and Angela’s cheeks flushed a deeper crimson.

When she stayed silent, the aged English teacher turned to the rest of the room.

“Who here has their syllabus with them?”

No one raised their hand, everyone equally unwilling to participate in the public humiliation Mathers was dishing out.

High school students were similar to a frightened herd of zebra; when one was being singled out and chased down by a lion, no one left the fleeing herd to turn back and help the lions make the kill.

Mathers’ eyes scanned the room for a few tense moments before landing on Rory and Jason’s desk.  Both tensed at the foreboding gaze.

 _Please don’t._   Rory silently pleaded with her teacher as his stare became concrete.  He seemed to deliberate between which one he was going to offer up as tribute before his gaze settled on Rory.

“Miss-” Mathers began, but he was cut off abruptly.

“Mr. Mathers, I have my syllabus.”

Jason’s voice beckoned every eye in the room to him and even Rory turned to stare in shock.

Mathers, never flustered or caught-off-guard by anything apparently, simply nodded.

“Please read aloud then the description of the midterm project so Miss Martin may catch up to the rest of the class.”

Jason’s face and tone stayed carefully neutral as he began reciting the assignment.

“‘ _Students are to pair up and pick a Shakespearian text out of the supplied options and present on one of the overarching themes of the play as discussed in the textbook.  Pairs will be graded on their overall presentation, their written assessments of the text as well as the format in which they choose to showcase their chosen theme.  This presentation will be counted as the midterm exam and is worth twenty-percent of the final grade._ ’” Jason finished, his voice never wavering in the silence of the classroom.

“Very good, thank you for volunteering, Mr. Todd.” Mathers turned back to Angela.  “Are you relatively caught up now, Miss Martin?” When she nodded, Mathers returned to his desk.

“As previously stated, you will be pairing up and selecting a work of Shakespeare out of the options I have here.  You will select a theme within your work that you believe is the main theme present.  You will then present on this theme with your partner and that will be your midterm exam.  I do _not_ want to sit through thirty-power point presentations on why revenge is the most prominent theme in Hamlet; get creative in how you present.” He glanced at his watch. “You have ten minutes to find a partner and then select a work.  I reserve the right to change any partnerships I believe will not be productive.”

The class immediately erupted into the scraping of chair legs on linoleum and chattering of students.

Rory felt something suddenly poke her in the side and she squawked, turning with wide eyes to see Jason, a pencil outstretched in one hand.

“I either don’t know or hate everyone else in this class and admittedly know way too much about Shakespeare.  Can I be your partner?”

His request was bordering on abrasive but Rory still found herself laughing at his deadpan tone and attitude.

“And here I thought you’d ask me because of my sparkling personality.” She said sarcastically.

“That was a given, but I figured if I threw in my dire need of a decent human as a partner it would earn me a few points.” He shrugged, the corner of his mouth tipping upwards in a sly smile.

“Am I still considered a decent human despite my opinion on Charles Dickens?” she prodded, expecting Jason’s face to fall.  Instead, his smile widened and a devious gleam emerged in his eyes.

“I believe I can convert you from your horrendously incorrect stance on Dickens.”

Rory snorted at that.

“When pigs fly.”

Jason stood from his seat as Mathers began calling on pairs to begin coming up and claiming plays.  Before he moved to grab a work, he grinned at Rory.

“I’d start carrying an umbrella, Miss Stathos, because the forecast looks like bacon.”

 

* * *

 

Jason had selected _King Lear_ , which they both agreed was one of the more bearable choices.  Jason revealed he was bored of _Romeo and Juliet_ , having already read it twice and Rory thought _Richard II_ was a bit dry, so they were content with their play about backstabbing sisters and eye gouging.

They parted ways after English, neither of them having any other classes together, agreeing to meet in the library after school to start working on the project.

The day seemed to be looking up by the time fourth period rolled around and Rory was making her way to her Trigonometry class when the loud speaker crackled to life above her.

“ _This is Vice Principal Beckman.  In a few moments, we will begin one of our scheduled lockdown situation drills, enacted when an intruder has entered the grounds.  Faculty, begin preparations to lock down your rooms.  Any student caught outside of a classroom after the drill begins will receive demerits.  The next announcement will mark the beginning of the drill_.”

The loud speaker fell silent and the hallways became a flood of students and faculty rushing to get to their fourth period destinations.

Gotham Academy was a behemoth structure, and with its gothic architecture and maze-like corridors, Rory was not at all surprised when she found herself completely lost after the swell of people had disappeared.

“ _Psst_.” Someone hissed behind her and Rory whirled around, clutching her messenger bag for dear life. 

A girl was peering out of what appeared to be a janitor’s closet, waving her arm frantically at Rory.

“In here!  It has a lock!”

Not even taking the time to question what she could be getting herself into, Rory all but threw herself into the closet after the girl just as Vice Principal Beckman’s voice crackled overhead.

“ _This is Vice Principal Beckman-”_

Rory slammed the door shut behind her, taking only a second to turn the lock before sliding down to the floor, her eyes sliding shut.

“That was a close one.”

Rory jerked, her eyes flying open.

There were four students seated on the floor in front of her amongst the mops and the spare toilet paper.

The girl who had beckoned her into the closet had spoken, grinning at the taller girl seated next to her, leaning against a yellow _Caution: Wet Floor_ sign.  She was beauty-pageant level pretty, her bronze skin glowing golden in the faint light of the single bulb above their heads.

On the other side of the closet were two boys who appeared to be playing a game of gin rummy with faded playing cards.

“It was only a close one because you insisted on saving some rando wandering around in the hallway!” The boy opposite of her hissed, his red hair like a flame in the dim lighting of the closet.  He glanced at Rory and offered an apologetic look.  “No offense.”

“None taken.” She said, slightly out of breath after the adrenaline of bolting for the closet.

“She isn’t some rando, Kyle.  She’s in my Physics class!” the first girl – who’s name Rory remembered was Amani – turned her way and offered a smile.  “You’re Aurora, right?”

Rory nodded.

“I’m Amani.  The ginger’s Kyle,” said boy scowled at Amani but waved to Rory non-the-less, “This is Theo,” she gestured to the girl beside her who waved, the bangles on her wrists chiming softly, “and that’s Dimitri.” The second boy nodded at her politely and Rory noticed the soccer ball he had cradled in the crook of his arm.

“Why are you all in here?” she asked.

“We were on our way from the auditorium, and the closest classroom is Mrs. Randall’s biology lab.” The four students shuddered collectively at the name.  “First semester she always dissects frogs and her entire room stinks.  I’d rather be among the Windex and the brooms than in there.” She pretended to gag.

“What about you, what’s a fine specimen like yourself doing wandering the halls all by her lonesome?” Kyle leaned in closer and wagged his eyebrows at her.  He was yanked back by Dimitri, who gave a firm tug on his uniform shirt’s collar.

“Stop being weird.”

“I’m making conversation!” Kyle protested and sputtered at Dimitri’s skeptical expression, turning as red as his hair.

“You’re making weird conversation.”

“ _You’re_ weird conver-”

“I got lost on my way to Trig.” Rory jumped in, sensing a bickering match about to erupt.

Amani offered up a sympathetic smile.

“Happens to all of us, this school’s like a maze.  Where were you coming from?”

“The library.” Third period was supposed to be her elective period, but since she was new and hadn’t picked one yet, she had a temporary study hall in the library.  “What about you guys?  I didn’t know there was an elective in the auditorium.”

“There isn’t, it was a drama club meeting.” Theo chimed in, now engrossed with something on her phone.

Rory sat up a little straighter, interest peaked at the mention of a drama club.

While horseback riding was a hobby that she enjoyed, Rory _lived_ for the stage.  Since she was a child she had been drawn to performance, partially due to the fact that her mother had been a theatre teacher and actively encouraged Rory’s love of the dramatic arts.

“I didn’t know there was a drama club.  I didn’t see it offered as an elective choice.”

“Probably because it’s an after-school program, only members can substitute their elective blocks for it.” Kyle offered, leaning back against a plastic tub of sponges.

“You probably didn’t see anything about it because the production was announced at the end of the year last year, and none of the flyers have gone up yet.” Amani said, her smile growing as she saw Rory’s excitement grow.

“What is it?” Rory asked eagerly.

“ _Heathers: The Musical_.  Auditions are next Monday, if you’re interested.” Amani pulled a stack of papers out of her bag, handing them to Rory. 

She shuffled through them, hungry for information.  Included in the packet Amani gave her was a monologue sample and an audition song.

“Are you all auditioning?” Rory asked, carefully placing the papers inside her bag.

Dimitri shook his head.

“I’m on stage crew and ‘Mani is doing costuming.  Only Theo and Kyle are actually going out for any parts.”

“I think I’m a shoe-in for JD.” Kyle stage-whispered her way and Rory repressed a laugh at his overly exaggerated wink.

“They’re looking for a Christian Slater-esque bad boy.  You’re built like a breadstick and have hair redder than a tomato.  I think not.” Theo deadpanned. 

He let out a dramatic gasp, clutched his heart and pretended to weep loudly.

“My love, my darling Theodora, you _wound_ me.” He swooned across the circle into Theo’s lap, covering his eyes with his forearm.  “Oh death, thy sweet embrace.”

Theo rolled her eyes and pinched his nose, jarring him from his character as he sprung up, holding his nose.

“ _Theo_ ,” he whined, “That _hurt_ , babe.”

“Love hurts, Potts.  You knew that when you signed up.” She replied in a flat tone, but Rory could see the corners of her lips turning up.

Kyle narrowed his eyes.  “That’s it, I’m trading you in for a new girlfriend.”

“Nope, no take backs, no returns.” Theo didn’t miss a beat, crossing her arms and flipping her ponytail over her shoulder.  “It’s in the manual.”

Kyle dropped his hands from his nose. 

“There’s a _manual_?”

Rory laughed with Dimitri and Amani at Kyle’s faux-dumbstruck face.

Through the door, the sound of the loud speaker turning on silenced the conversation as the vice principal came over the speaker announcing that the drill was over and students and staff could resume their usual business.

Rory was almost disappointed to leave the cramped little closet.  She hadn’t laughed so much in one sitting in _ages_ and a drop weight of fear sunk into her stomach that she might not see any of them again.

But her fear didn’t last long when Amani demanded they all compare schedules and Rory discovered that she shared her Trigonometry class with Dimitri, her French class with Kyle, and her PE class with both Theo and Amani.

“Dimitri will show you where we usually sit at lunch – it’s in the courtyard under the gazebo.” Amani told her before bidding her and Dimitri goodbye and running off in the direction of her fourth period.

Dimitri and she then set off for their Trig class and Rory couldn’t have removed the smile on her face if she had taken bleach to it.

 

* * *

 

“You know, if you’d rather read this on your own, I have some Calculus homework burning a hole in my bag.”

Rory winced and sheepishly peered up at Jason through her lashes, his unamused expression causing her face to burn.

“Sorry.” She apologized and made to slip the _Heathers_ audition piece back into her folder where she had retrieved it halfway through Jason’s reading of the first scene in _King Lear._ They were in one of the private study rooms in the corner of the library, attempting to start their project.

It was just so hard to focus on anything but the audition material, especially another play.

“What are you reading that’s so interesting anyway?” Jason asked, tilting his head to read the page upside-down.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She tried to shove it out of sight, but Jason had reached across the table and snatched it from her.

“Hey!” she protested.

“ _Heathers: The Musical audition material_ \- you’re a drama kid?” he asked with a raised brow, still holding the audition piece.

“I’m going to audition for the musical, yes now can I please have my monologue back?” she snapped and Jason handed over the paper, staring at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I didn’t peg you as a drama kid.”

Rory raised an eyebrow, closing her bag with the audition papers safely inside.

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie.

“I didn’t peg you as the type.  You’re not very…” he trailed off, obviously choosing his words carefully.

“Dramatic?” she supplied.

“In your face was what I was going for.”

It was Rory’s turn to shrug.

“I didn’t peg you as the book nerd type, and yet here we are.”

Jason opened his mouth to retort but paused and then pointed a finger at her.

“Touché.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments before Rory spoke.

“Hey,” she began, grabbing Jason’s attention.  “Thanks for the thing in English.  Mathers was out for blood.”

Jason’s brow furrowed for a moment before realization dawned over his face.

“Oh, that thing with Angela.” He waved a hand through the air nonchalantly.  “Mathers is famous for his classroom executions, I had him last year.  I also had the least to lose since Queen Bee already thinks I’m worth less than the gum on the bottom of her shoe.”

“Why?” Rory asked before she could stop herself.

Jason paused and Rory worried she had pushed a sensitive topic, but he only sighed.

“I was adopted off the streets – literally from the gutter – and Angela thinks that because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth I don’t belong here.” He explained, for the most part coming off as uncaring but Rory saw the tension build in his shoulders as he spoke.

“Well that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” She spat and a part of her heart cracked at the genuine surprise that Jason’s face held.  Like he had never heard someone disagree with Angela’s opinion before.  By the way the rest of the class treated him, she wouldn’t be surprised if no one had.

“Ah, thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. 

“I’m serious, who the hell does she-” Rory cut herself off, blowing a harsh breath out of her nose, fuming at the idea.  She took a moment to compose herself before picking up her copy of _King Lear._

“Well, who cares what Angela Martin thinks.  You’re worth ten times what she is anyway.” Rory huffed, focus now resuming on the text.  “I’ll read the next part.  _Then poor Cordelia!_ _And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's_ _More richer than my tongue-_ _”_

She was so focused on the text that she never noticed how Jason’s voice trembled slightly or how he swiped hurried at his eyes between lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused, they're still just getting to know each other here. 
> 
> There's definitely a small attraction but for the most part they're going into this with the sole intention of friendship.


	4. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jason's first night back out on the street. Bruce has reservations, the evenings plans literally go up in flames, our resident Boy Wonder takes after his mentor in the brooding department and discovers something he knows he shouldn't have, Alfed sees through all sorts of BS, an unexpected guest arrives for breakfast, Ace is adorable and Rory and Jason have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy Holidays, here’s a new chapter (finally)!
> 
> I love how I say that I didn’t mean to make this a Jason centric story and then immediately after write a chapter from his point of view. 
> 
> I am so sorry it’s taken me so long to get this next chapter out, but I just finished finals and there was just no time. Also I’ve been having pretty horrible writers block + panic attacks since I got home and I’ve barely had time to sit down and write something worthwhile. I literally just got my mojo back.
> 
> To make up for my absence, here’s really fricking long chapter.
> 
> Please drop me a review and tell me what you think!
> 
> And off we go.

* * *

 

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“ _Please_.”

“Jason.”

“Bruce.”

“Jason Peter, I am not playing this game with you.” Bruce said sternly, his eyes still glued to the Bat Computer as different live security feeds around the city played on loop, not even sparing a glance at the glowering teenager next to him.  A police scanner warbled in the background and a few bats screeched overhead.

“You said I could start doing weeknight patrols twice a week once school started up again!” he protested, voice bouncing around the stone cavern.

“Yes, I did.  But that was before you got hurt.  Now I’m saying no patrolling on a school night.” The Wayne patriarch’s voice left no room for argument, but Jason tried anyway.

“Oh, come on, B, I’ve had my stitches out for almost a week now.  How long are you going to hold that over my head?” the dark-haired boy fired back.

“You may not believe me, Jay, but I’m doing this for your safety.” Bruce skirted the question, getting up from his chair and venturing deeper in to the cave to collect his supplies for the night, his partner close on his tail.

“ _Alfred_ even gave me the okay to go back out.  _Alfred_.”

“Alfred doesn’t make the decisions around here, I do.” Bruce countered. 

“He only lets you think that.”

Bruce let out a long sigh, pausing in the middle of fitting a batarang into his belt.  He turned to stare at his son, dressed in his Robin uniform, and debated his options.

He could leave Jason at the Cave while he went out on patrol, but that could lead to two possible outcomes.

The first was that Jason would do as he was told and stay put, but in result would be very cranky and difficult to deal with when Bruce got back and would probably remain that way for the rest of the week.  A cranky Jason was akin to World War Three being waged in the vestibule and not something he needed at the moment.

The second, and much more in character outcome, Jason would simply wait until Alfred was preoccupied with something upstairs and sneak out after Bruce, unsupervised and free to get into whatever trouble he pleased without the watchful eye of the Batman keeping him in check.

The latter of the two possibilities struck an ice-cold spike of fear into Bruce’s chest and he coughed to try and dislodge it. 

Once he had regained his composure, Bruce went back to fitting his suit with the necessary items for patrol.  He wasn’t trying to bide his time and come up with a convincing reason for Jason to sit out patrol.  Not at all.

“B.  Come on.”

Bruce paused, facing away from the source of the exasperated voice, and closed his eyes, his shoulders lowering a fraction with a sigh.

He turned around, dark cape billowing around him, and eyed Jason with what he hoped was an unbiased eye.

Jason _had_ been cleared by Alfred to resume patrol, and had spent nearly all the time he could spare from his schoolwork to working on his PT.  He had even convinced Bruce the night before to engage in a light spar, which Bruce in retrospect should have known was the beginning of the end of Robin’s break from crime fighting.

Jason felt he was ready, but Bruce wasn’t sure if _he_ was ready for Jason to go back out onto the street.

It had taken nearly three hours to scrub all of the blood from the upholstery in the Batmobile and Bruce hadn’t even bothered with his gloves, deciding instead to throw them in the incinerator.  He didn’t think he could stomach slipping them back on after seeing them stained with Jason’s blood. 

For what felt like the millionth time, Bruce wondered if what he was doing with Jason, _to_ Jason, was right. 

It had been different with Dick, Dick needed justice for the man who had killed his parents and had Bruce not given him Robin he would have sought revenge on his own.  With Jason, it was something that Bruce had given to him by the fire that he saw in him and the possibilities that lay beneath his surface that night in Crime Alley.

For what felt like the millionth time, Bruce wondered if he was hurting Jason more than he was helping him.

He steered violently away from that train of thought, shaking himself. 

“Fine.” Bruce found himself saying as he pulled the cowl over his face.  “A _light_ patrol. You are back here and are in bed _before_ one.  One.  Not one-o-five, not one-ten.  One.  Arms deals or bank robberies be damned.”

“ _Yes!”_ Jason hissed, a grin spreading across his lips.  He spun on his heel and made a dash for the Batmobile, flying into a back hand spring just for the fun of it.

“Come on, old man, we’ve got bad guy ass to kick!”

“Language!”

* * *

There was nothing like flying.

For just a second while he was in the sweet spot between an upward arch and free fall between the looming skyscrapers of Gotham, Jason could understand why his mother had loved the drugs that corroded her body so much.

He was a hopeless junkie when it came to Robin, and he had no idea how bad his withdrawal had gotten until he tasted his fix.

He laughed breathlessly as he landed on the rooftop where his father was waiting, an ebony statue against the bright lights of Gotham’s nightlife.

Jason hopped to the edge of the paneling, swinging his legs over the side and leaning back against a chimney stack.

“I missed this.” He breathed, staring, transfixed, at the city scape before him.

He had spent years hunkered down in the slums of Gotham, darkness and grime his only companions as he fought to see the next sunrise.  Everything in the gutter was colored in shades of gray, ash, and rusted brown.  Nothing was clean or pretty that close to the ground, and if it started off that way it surely didn’t end it.

But up there, away from the slime and the blood and the sorrow, Gotham shone like a utopia of lights and wonder.  From his perch, Jason saw Gotham the way she was supposed to look – a beautiful monument worthy of only those who possessed the grit and the strength to dwell within her. 

And when Jason turned to look at his father and saw the ghost of a smile beneath the cowl, he knew Batman saw her too.

But like anything beautiful in the rose that was Gotham, the moment came with a heavy reminder of the thorns that waited just below the petals.

A faint _boom_ echoed somewhere in the distance, followed by a flash of orange and the billowing of heavy smoke.  Jason had only just scrambled off his perch when Barbara’s voice flooded the comms.

“ _Oracle to Batman and Robin, major explosion in Newtown, warehouse district.  Local emergency services on route.”_ Barbara Gordon’s – Oracle, their eyes in the sky, ground and generally everywhere there was a hackable video camera - voice shattered the silence and before he could even really think about it, Jason found himself bounding from one roof top to another, Batman a wisp of black smoke in front of him.

“Copy, origin of the explosion?” He heard Batman’s growling baritone reply and the Boy Wonder picked up his pace.

“ _Vide Shipping Company.  Source of the blast is still unclear but by the size and the surrounding demographic my gut says either gas leak or amateur arson gone horribly wrong.”_ Oracle rattled off, and Jason could hear the faint _click clack_ of her keyboard in the background.

“Population of the neighborhood?” Batman questioned as they grew closer to the site, the pungent scent of smoke and charred chemicals assaulting Jason’s nose as a heavy gust of wind picked up the smell.  His eyes watered behind his mask but he pressed on.

“ _It’s a hub for a large part of the district’s homeless population, the number of official residents is fairly low but that leaves out the thousands that use the area as shelter and business.”_

Jason grimaced at the way she said _business_ ; he knew she wasn’t referring to any mom and pop bodegas in the area.  Prostitution, drug deals and gangs were a common find in Uptown, especially so close to Crime Alley which bordered Newtown to the South.

“So, Gotham General is about to get very busy, is what you’re saying.” Jason spoke for the first time, and Barbara blew out a breath.

“ _I’m saying that if this fire isn’t contained soon the city morgue is going to get very busy_.”

The comms fell into eerie silence after that, Batman and Robin reaching their destination.

Batman turned to him as they looked out onto the smoldering remains of the still burning warehouse, the screams of the people below floating up to them in a sickening melody.

“I want you on the ground working crowd control.  Assist stragglers and make it clear that anyone attempting to take _advantage_ of the situation will wish they hadn’t.  You stay away from the fire and under no circumstances do you have permission to enter a compromised structure.”

Jason swelled in indignation, a million scenarios playing out in his mind to challenge that last order.

“B, come on-” But Batman leveled him with his signature glare, cutting him off.

“We don’t have time to go back and forth over this, Robin.  I will handle anyone trapped inside.” 

Jason opened his mouth to fire a rebuttal back at his partner, but the Dark Knight was having none of it.

“Disobey and patrol is revoked for the rest of the year.” He barked and then vanished over the edge of the roof in a flurry of black fabric, not waiting for a response.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Jason muttered before grabbing his grappling gun from his belt and leaping into the chaos below.

As he hit the ground, Jason vaguely wondered how he had descended past all nine circles of Dante’s Inferno in a matter of seconds.

When Barbara had said that the area was a hub for the homeless and residents partaking in the illegal side of the district, she had been grossly understating things.

When Jason was very, very young he distantly remembered his mother and father taking him to the New Year’s Day parade downtown.  He had been maybe three at the time, possibly four, but his mother had been somewhat clean and Willis Todd hadn’t been locked up with the key thrown away so it was one of the better times before Bruce and Alfred.

He remembered his mother setting him down near one of the barricades and telling him very sternly _not to move, baby_ before the crowds had swarmed in as the parade moved closer to their place on the route.  Before he knew it, what felt like hundreds of thousands of people had descended on him and his parents and Jason had been swept away with the stream of people, shouting for his mother all the way.  It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before his mother had caught up to him and plucked him from the pavement, but to Jason it felt like years of dodging people’s feet and distracted strides.  It had made him wary of crowds until years later when he found refuge in a busy crowd and the ticket to his next meal they carried in their pockets.

Dodging around screaming men, women and children, Jason felt that same feeling of overwhelming loss of control he had experienced that day so many years before.

All around him people were screaming, crying, or begging for help as they scattered like spooked rats back into the darkness of the nearby alleyways.  He picked people up, carried them, directed them towards escape routes and even broke apart a few panicked scuffles as a never-ending stream of people continued to flow out of the inflamed city block like an open vein.  Everywhere Jason looked there was someone blistering or smoldering from the heat of the flames and the stench of burning hair and flesh nearly made him vomit.

He fruitlessly tried to peer over the crowd to see if there was any sort of end to the mass evacuation in sight, but all he could see was panic and terror.  He was covered in soot and grime and felt like he had only been on the ground a few minutes when another _boom_ shook the ground beneath his feet.

The pace of the crowd increased tenfold and Jason was almost barreled over more than once before he managed to grapple out of the fray and onto a fire escape, breathing hard.

A building next to the warehouse had collapsed in on itself, the raging fire expanding rapidly.  Firetrucks and police had arrived at the scene at some point or another and were scurrying around like ants beneath him to put out the wild blaze.

Overhead, he heard the familiar whisper-like hum of the Batwing as it deposited some sort of cooling agent over the flames.  It seemed to slow the burn somewhat, but the main fire was still burning and Jason was sure they would be there the whole night when Batman’s voice crackled to life over the comms.

“ _Robin, report_.”

“I’ve gotten as many people as I can out and away without getting trampled myself, but they just keep coming, B.  If we don’t get this fire out soon- _shit._ ” He broke off with a curse, his side pinching painfully as a phantom pain tore at his flesh.

Somewhere in the distance, Jason registered in the back of his mind a clock tower chiming.

There was a long pause on the other end of the comm, nothing to drown out the screams and the crackling of burning brick and mortar below, before Batman’s spoke again.

“ _Pull back and return to the Cave, GCFD has this contained.”_

Jason was about to protest until he looked up and realized that the flames had died and the blaze mostly contained, fire department workers slowly but surely reducing them to little more than smoking cinders.

“Fine, where should I meet you?”

“ _I’m staying here to investigate the origin of the explosion once the fire is completely out.  I want to take some samples of the ash and surrounding-”_ But Jason had tuned him out at that point, the protest swelling in his throat muting the world around him for a moment.

“I’m not just going to let you stay behind without me, B, come on.” His tone was bordering on a desperate plea, but Batman’s response was concrete.

“ _You have orders to return to the Cave by one.  This situation is contained and therefore you will proceed as previously instructed.”_

Jason muted his end of the comm and swore colorfully.  Like _hell_ he was about to turn tail and run from a crisis like this one. 

“ _Robin,”_ Batman rumbled, but this time it was softer, a bit warmer than the robotic bark he had adapted before, “ _It’s twelve-thirty-five.  We had a deal: back before one.”_

Jason wanted to argue.  Oh, how _badly_ he wanted to tell the old man to stick his deal where the sun didn’t shine and leap back into the fray, but he knew that route would only get him more gruff orders and cold glares.

“I can _help_ here.” He tried, “Going back to the cave-”

“ _Is in everyone’s best interest.  You’re still recovering from your injury and more of a hindrance than a help if you can’t perform at one hundred percent.”_

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.  His eyes burned from more than just a heavy amount of soot and his mouth twisted into a locked grimace.

“Fine.” He managed after a moment, hating the tremor in his voice.  “Wouldn’t want to be a _hindrance_.” He spat and before Batman could reply with a shitty excuse for an apology, Jason muted his comm and took off into the night, running until the dying flames of the fire stopped painting the rooftops around him red.

* * *

He had turned on a private channel of his comm shortly after, telling Barbara that he was taking the long way home and to tell the Big Bat so he didn’t freak out when he saw his tracker – because of course Bruce would be tracking him, he was a mega fucking control freak after all – going off the reservation. 

“Alright,” she had agreed after a pause, “I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks, O.” Jason muttered, swinging from tree branch to tree branch with little concentration.  He had decided to swing around the long way to get back to the Cave, skirting around the edge of Bristol that bordered the manor.  The land was peppered with smaller estates and McMansions barely ten miles out from the Wayne grounds.  It wasn’t a route the Dynamic Duo ever really needed to patrol, nor one Jason was overly familiar with as his expertise in geography stemmed mostly from his time in Crime Alley.  He also wasn’t paying much attention to where exactly his feet were going, which ended as predictably as one could imagine: he tripped.

Muffling a curse as he slammed into the rough bark of a tree a few feet below, Jason scrabbled to find a hold before he became a pancake on the forest floor under him.

“Fucking _amazing_.” He huffed, wincing as his side gave another throb, irritated at the impact against the tree trunk.

He hoisted himself up onto a sturdy-looking branch and shuffled to rest against the large Oak’s trunk, wrapping his cape around him more securely and crossing his arms, allowing his head to tip back against the rough bark.  If he was going to take a break, he was going to _brood_ goddammit.

Bitterness crawled up his throat and sat heavily on his tongue, pushing against his teeth and begging for an excuse to escape into the cooling October air.  He had been so restless over the past few weeks, forced to the sidelines and deprived of the one release he had.  And on his first patrol out since in _weeks_ and he’s treated like a rookie.  It was just so freaking _unfair_.

“You’re being so _unfair_!”

Jason jerked and almost fell off of his branch when a voice shattered the relative silence of the forest.

Turning in the direction of the shout’s origin, Jason saw the outline of a house through the trees, not more than forty feet from where he sat.  A window on the second floor shone brightly out into the forest and he could see curtains from inside fluttering in the wind, indicating the large window was open to the night air.

He wasn’t one to spy on others – nobody who wasn’t participating in criminal activities, that is – so Jason was ready to ignore the shout and simply continue on with his brooding meditation on his branch when the sound of glass breaking echoed throughout the night.

His interest now irresistibly peaked, Jason leaped from his perch, inching closer to the house tree by tree.

_I’m not being weird, I’m just checking to make sure nobody’s about to start a domestic dispute_.  He rationalized as he landed on the branch closest to the window but still mostly in the shadows of the trees behind him. 

The tree was large, with sturdy branches that reached far above the gray roof of the home and branches that just brushed the walls.  The leaves hadn’t fallen yet, though they had turned aWW crisp collage of orange, red and yellow – perfect for camouflage, and therefore the not-snooping Jason was about to do.

The sheer curtains were still fluttering in the breeze, obscuring most of Jason’s view but he was able to make out some of the strikingly white bedroom.  Honestly, everything from the curtains to the lamp was _white_ , save a large discarded lump of powder blue fabric that laid limply on the bedspread.

A girl stood, most of her face obscured by the moving fabric in the window, braced against the door as someone shoved violently on it from the other side, not letting it close all the way.

“-my own room back home, Calliope!  I’m not asking a lot, I just really miss my old comforter cover!” the girl shouted through the door, jolting back when it was knocked roughly from whomever was on the other side.  There was something about her voice that itched at Jason’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it for long before the commotion in the room started up again.

“ _I_ am the one who makes the decisions about how the house looks and I said _no_.  Now open this door!” A voice called back through the wood, and Jason could have sworn he heard a distinct slur to the consonants.  He watched as the girl tried to keep the door shut and ultimately failed, the door swinging open and forcing her to stumble back. 

A middle-aged woman stormed into the bedroom, her dark hair and dress contrasting starkly with the whiteness of the room.  She stumbled a few times before she reached the girl, latching onto her arm and wrenching her from the wall she was pressed up against.

Their voices dropped into whispers then, no more than hisses on the wind and no matter how much Jason strained his ears he couldn’t make out what they were saying.  The girl tensed and squirmed in the woman’s hold, obviously uncomfortable with the tight grip on her arm.

The woman jerked her arm once more before letting go and turning on her heel, stomping out of the room and slamming the door shut behind her causing the bedframe to rattle against the wall.

The girl stood, rubbing at her arm and breathing hard for a few moments after the woman left, before she bolted for the door and turned the lock with more force than strictly necessary.

She sat down on the bed facing away from Jason and hunched over her lap for a few moments, combing her fingers through her hair in a frustrated manner.

Watching from the shadows, Jason felt a pulse of sympathy resonate in his chest for her.  She looked so sad, and he instinctively took a step closer to the window.  In doing so, he snapped a thin twig in his path and the sound echoed throughout the silence.

The girl in the bedroom stiffened and sat up straight, whirling around in alarm.

A familiar pair of blue eyes unknowingly met his and Jason swallowed a wheeze of shocked air.

He shuffled back against the bark of the tree, crouching in the darkness and praying to any deity that would listen for Rory to by some miracle _not_ see him peeping in her window.

Oh, God, he was _peeping_ in on his classmate and quite possibly _only_ friend and a moment he was sure she didn’t want anyone witnessing. 

He almost stopped breathing altogether when Rory stood from her bed and moved to the window, placing her hands on the sill and ever-so-slightly leaning out into the night, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees, her brow furrowed in suspicion and concentration.

He could see from the glint of the light seeping out of her room that she had been crying, crystalline tracks dampening her cheeks.  She wiped them hastily with the back of her hand and sniffed loudly, letting her eyes drop from their searching motion to the forest floor below them, leaning on the sill.

“Three more years and I will never have to step foot in this house again.” She whispered, closing her eyes and grasped onto the sill as if it was the one strand of hope that she had left. 

The breeze picked up again and Rory raised her chin so the gust of air could caress her face, closing her eyes as the crisp October night dried the tears settling on her skin.

She opened them again and looked up, a soft, tired smile on her lips as she pressed her fingers to her mouth and blew a kiss to the moon hanging high above them.

“Goodnight, _lune_.” She murmured and Jason’s heart sank further into his stomach.  He was witnessing something so _intimate_ that it made his skin crawl, the bark behind him suddenly rough and abrasive as if the forest around him knew he was an unwelcome audience.

Without another word, Rory closed the window then and drew the daisy sheer curtains closed.  A moment later the light switched off and Jason sat, alone, in the darkness of the night.

Every molecule in his seventeen-year-old body was screaming for him to jump up and run as far away as physically possible.  But Jason forced himself to sit there in silent agony for a few more minutes, waiting until he was positive Rory was either far enough away from the window that she wouldn’t hear his departure or asleep.

He sat there for the longest five minutes of his life before he made his silent departure from the shadowy hideaway and the secrets he hadn’t wanted to witness.

* * *

Bruce still hadn’t returned to the Cave by the time he stumbled in, ten minutes past one, and for a minute he thought he was home free.  He was removing his cape and domino mask when a soft voice cleared their throat, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

“Good morning, Master Jason.”

Jason cringed, cursing silently, as he turned around to face Alfred sitting at the Batcomputer, his expression painfully neutral.

“H-hey, Alfred.” He stuttered, avoiding the butler’s gaze in favor of the stone floor beneath his shoes.

“Any injuries to report?”

“Nope.” He said, almost too quickly, and cursed inwardly.

“Outstanding.  Anything worth mentioning on the events of the night?” Alfred’s expression remained frustratingly blank and Jason swallowed thickly.

“Nothing in particular.” He started shuffling towards the changing rooms, ducking into the first stall, removing his uniform as quickly as he could without ripping anything.  He exchanged the red and black fabric for a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt that someone – probably Alfred – had left waiting for him and pulled the curtain open to reveal Alfred waiting on the other side.

“Just your average arson and insanity.” Jason laughed weakly and began making his way, as subtly as he could manage, towards the stairs that would lead him out of the cave and into the study.  He had no idea how he was going to casually make it up the entire flight of stairs while simultaneously acting like nothing was out of the ordinary, but by God he was going to try.  The only other person he wanted to tell about his unintentional eavesdropping on his classmate _less_ than Bruce was Alfred.  The lecture on the dishonesty and ethicality of snooping he would get would only be the beginning.

He had just put his foot on the first step when Alfred spoke again.

“Would you like to explain, then, why you turned off your communicator and took a rather unexpected and lengthy stopover in Bristol?”

_Busted_.

Jason turned around, defeated, to see Alfred’s disapproving frown waiting for him.

He sighed and lifted his shoulders in a shrug, lowering his eyes.

Alfred didn’t wait for a further response before he began reprimanding his youngest charge.

“You had Master Bruce worried sick, young man, and it was absolutely unreasonable of you to put Miss Gordon in the position of playing your messenger just because you were unhappy at being sent home at the very time you agreed to.” The butler lectured and Jason shrunk further into his shoes. 

“But I-” he tried to interject but a harsh look from Alfred silenced him.

“No excuses.  The rule stands: you keep-”

“My communicator on at all times in case of an emergency, Alfie I _know_.” Jason recited, momentarily ignoring the disapproving frown he was receiving.  “I just…” he sighed and Alfred’s hardened stare softened a fraction.  “I needed some time to myself.”

Alfred studied him for a few moments, neither one of them speaking, before the butler himself let out a small sigh. 

“Alright,” he conceded, “Be that as it may, it doesn’t explain your ten-minute idling into Bristol.”

“Oh, that.” Jason shuffled, once more avoiding eye contact.  “I was ah, cooling off?” It came out as a question and the teenager nearly smacked himself.  Alfred raised an inquisitive brow.

“In October.” Alfred asked in a deadpan.

“No, really!” Everything Bruce had ever taught him about convincing someone you were telling the truth (when, in fact, you were doing the opposite) had seemingly evaporated into thin air.  Either he was still frazzled from spying on Rory or Alfred was impossible to lie to.  Most likely a mixture of the two.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look Alfred square in the eye, talking in an even tone and tempo: “I took a few minutes to sort out my head.  I was still really fuc-freaking upset,” he corrected quickly, “with Bruce, and I wanted some time to just be mad.  So, I took a detour and sat in a tree for a few minutes and just…brooded.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, and to his credit, Alfred looked maybe twenty-percent more on board with his story than when he had started, but it still wasn’t enough to spare him one of the butler’s signature narrow eyed stares.

“I see.” Alfred said, still not totally convinced.  He then glanced at the monitor, frowning at the time before turning back to Jason.

“Well, I’d say it was more than past time for you to be in bed.  I shall inform Master Bruce that you are home safe.”

“So…does this mean I’m not grounded?” Jason asked hopefully, but shrunk again when Alfred fixed him with a disapproving frown.

“That decision will be up to Master Bruce; might I remind you, Master Jason, that you deliberately turned off your communicator, causing not only Master Bruce great distress but myself as well.”

Jason looked down at his slippers, shame creeping into the corners of his gut.  He admittedly hadn’t thought what Alfred would think if he was monitoring the comms in the cave and saw his communicator go dark.

“’m sorry I made you worry.” He mumbled and he heard Alfred sigh before a gloved hand landed on his shoulder gently.

He looked up to see Alfred giving him a soft smile, all traces of disapproval or sternness gone from his expression.

“I appreciate your apology, it would make it all the more meaningful if you promised not to disappear on us again in a similar manner.”

Jason returned the butler’s smile and nodded.  “I promise, Alfie.”

The butler smiled and then straightened, nodding as if to finalize the matter.

“Very good then, off to bed with you, if memory serves you have a Biology exam tomorrow.”

Jason’s face fell and he groaned as he climbed the stairs back into the manor.

“I still don’t know why I can’t take my tests with a private proctor, I always finish early and end up sitting there with nothing to do for an hour and a half.”

“Such is the burden of intelligence, Master Jason.”

They fell into a comfortable silence until the pair arrived at Jason’s door.

The adrenaline from the night was beginning to drain out of him, and the idea of curling up in bed for a few hours sounded like the best thing ever.

“Night, Alfie.” He yawned and was in the process of turning the door handle when a gloved hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Jason turned his head, a question on his lips, when Alfred spoke again.

“Whenever you are ready to discuss what happened while you were in Bristol, I will be happy to lend a listening ear.”

Jason’s mouth fell open but no sound came out, his hand now frozen around the doorknob.  Alfred straightened and offered his youngest charge a small smile.

“Goodnight, Master Jason.”

With that, he turned and walked briskly down the hall, disappearing around the corner without another word or backwards glance.

Jason stood there for what could have been a few minutes or a full hour, trying to piece together _how_ Alfred figured it out.  In the end, he was too sleepy to make a solid decision on how the old butler knew, so he left it between either Alfred was secretly Martian and could read minds or he was a better detective than Batman.

As he fell asleep, Jason was pretty sure it was the second one.

* * *

The next morning, Jason came down to breakfast expecting to be read the riot act by Bruce about his behavior of the night before.  He had even practiced his best repentant face in the mirror while brushing his teeth, just in case. 

When he entered the dining room, however, he found that his antics from the night before were probably the last thing on Bruce’s mind.

Sitting across from a particularly pained looking Bruce was Dick Grayson, looking almost equally uncomfortable with the entire situation as he studied his eggs with a laser-like intensity. 

Alfred stood at the middle of the table, setting what Jason presumed was his plate down directly between the two vigilantes.

He had all of five seconds to debate running back up into his room and hiding until Alfred had to drive him to school before said butler noticed his entrance and called out to him.

“Ah, Master Jason, just on time.  Your breakfast is ready, please take a seat.”

Jason eyed the chair Alfred had pulled out for him like it might bite him, and tried not to grimace.

“You know, Alfie, I’m not all that-”

“Jason.” Bruce warned, looking at him with an expression that translated to _If I have to suffer through this awkward breakfast, so do you_.

The black-haired teenager sighed and sat, turning to nod at Dick as he did so.

“Morning, Little Wing.” The former-Robin gave him what may have been his first genuine smile that morning while Jason rolled his eyes at the nickname.

It may have seemed innocent enough, but below the feather themed nickname lay a secret that only those in the room – and a few others, admittedly – where privy too. 

Dick wasn’t just Bruce’s first son (his _ward_ as Dick liked to correct every time someone mislabeled his connection to Bruce.  Jason figured he just did it to make some point), he was the first Robin to take up the cape next to Batman.  He had been taken in by Bruce at the age of nine after his parents fell to their deaths during one of their high-flying trapeze acts which was orchestrated by the mobster Tony Zucco.  Dick had been Robin until his eighteenth birthday and an explosive argument with Bruce, the details of which Jason wasn’t a hundred percent on, and had then become the protector of Bludhaven; Nightwing.

Bruce adopting Jason and then subsequently handing over the Robin mantle soon after hadn’t helped matters, but over the six years that Jason had lived in Wayne Manor, the tension had cooled somewhat.  Though that being said, from time to time it was difficult for Dick and Bruce to be in the same room and not make things painfully tense and/or awkward. 

In all honesty, he liked Dick.  He was a great fighter and a brilliant strategist, if a little flamboyant, and he had been the one person who Jason could, for lack of a better word, bitch to about Bruce when he was feeling the throes of his teen angst. 

Through that they had forged somewhat of a kinship, and it wasn’t so surprising for Alfred or Bruce to get a call close to dismissal asking if Dick could pick Jason up from school.  Jason secretly cherished those afternoons spent with the older man at the pier or a Knight’s game, for once feeling like he wasn’t pinched under a microscope – a feeling he was all too familiar with during any public outings with Bruce.  He tried not to dwell on the awkward custody shifting, as he had dubbed it, when Dick would drop him off at the manor.  Bruce would always be cordial and warm towards his estranged ward, inviting him in for dinner and such, but every time Dick would, as expected, refuse politely and speed off back towards Bludhaven like the ending to some sad Lifetime movie.

In Jason’s opinion, both Bruce and Dick were grown ass men and needed to sort whatever was keeping them from truly reconciling out, or at least stop using him as a scapegoat.

Whenever Dick did come over, it seemed that Jason was the “safe” topic.  Probing into any other subject matter seemed to lead to passive aggressive comments and slammed doors, so whenever his “older brother” came around, the teenager resigned himself to be grilled about everything that was going on in his life.

“So, how’s school going?”

Jason shrugged, stabbing his eggs with his fork and shoving some of his breakfast into his mouth. 

“Fine, I guess.” He answered around his food.

“Jason’s taking AP English this semester.” Bruce supplied from the other end of the table.

Dick’s eyes lit up, his interest obviously peaked while Jason tried to calculate how long it would take to drown himself in his orange juice.

“Is that still with Mathers?  I had him senior year; the whole class had a running challenge to see who could make him show any speck of emotion over the course of the semester.  One kid went as far as to die his hair bright yellow and the man didn’t even blink.” Dick recalled with a laugh.

“Yeah, sounds like Mathers.” Jason let the corner of his mouth twitch up into a half-smile before he returned to his plate.

Soft _clack_ ing of nails on hardwood echoed gently from the hallway and Ace padded in.  The German Shephard trotted to Jason’s side and bumped his head against the boy’s leg affectionately. 

“Morning, Ace.” Jason patted the dog’s head and, when he was sure Bruce was absorbed in his paper and Dick was looking at something on his phone, he swiped a piece of bacon from his plate and offered it to the canine.

“If you keep feeding that dog table scraps he’s going to start begging.”

Jason dropped the bacon in surprise, which landed in Ace’s eagerly awaiting jaws anyway, and lifted his head sheepishly to meet Bruce’s unamused stare.

“He loves bacon.” Jason defended and Ace let out a quiet _woof_ , gnawing on the thick slice of ham at Jason’s feet.

“That dog has ridiculously expensive _bacon flavored_ dog food that he can get from his bowl.  If you keep feeding him at the table it’s going to turn into a habit.” Bruce set down his paper and leveled Jason with a stare that he knew meant _end of discussion_.

Jason suppressed an eye roll and nodded, turning to pat the Shephard while silently vowing to break the new rule on any possible occasion.

“It’s just some bacon, Bruce.  Lighten up.” Dick interjected and Jason tensed, his gaze flickering between his father and older brother.

Bruce’s jaw set in a firm line and he turned the unamused look he had been staring Jason down with on Dick. 

_Oh, here we go._

“If the dog starts learning that he can do whatever he wants, it won’t just be begging for scraps.  Next time it will be a torn-up couch, or a soiled rug.  Ace has to know there are rules in this house that must be obeyed.”

“Yeah because God forbid we let the damn dog have some freedom once in a while.” Dick shot back and suddenly Jason wasn’t so sure they were talking about Ace anymore.

Bruce leaned back in his chair and exhaled, his hand rubbing at his temple tiredly.

“If the dog wants to remain under this roof, he has to follow the rules.”

Dick’s face turned an alarming shade of red and he looked ready to throw himself across the table at Bruce.  Jason glanced towards the direction of the kitchen.  Why wasn’t Alfred appearing out of nowhere like he usually did when these two started up like this?

“Well maybe the _dog_ thinks you can take your rules and shove them up your-”

“I made a friend in English.”

The tension that had been steadily rising between the two older vigilantes came screeching to a halt as they both turned to stare at Jason, who now had Ace’s collar in a death grip and a flush creeping up his neck.

_Desperate times, Todd._

“You made a friend?” Jason tried not to be annoyed at the inflection of wonder and rising excitement in Bruce’s tone, and nodded somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah, she’s a new student this year.  Moved here from Coast City.” He continued, shuffling awkwardly in his seat.

“ _She?_ ” Dick emphasized.

Jason chose to ignore him in favor of turning back to Bruce, who still had that ridiculous expression on his face.

“Aurora Stathos, have you heard of the family?” he asked. 

Bruce stared at him for another moment and then shook himself, clearing his throat and settling back into his chair.

“I have; Haytham Stathos and his wife came to one of the Wayne Galas we held at Star Labs in Coast City a little over a decade ago.  I vaguely remember him mentioning they had a daughter but I hadn’t caught her age.  How did you two meet?”

Jason could hear Bruce trying to suppress his eagerness for information and felt a little more than embarrassed.  Okay so Jason hadn’t really had a “friend” so to speak since maybe before his mother started shooting up, and he never really talked about anyone at school save for the assholes who attempted to torment him, but Bruce didn’t have to act like he was five and bringing home his first ever friend from preschool.

“Like I said, we have English together.  We sit next to each other.”

“ _She?”_ Dick interjected once more, and this time Jason shot him a glare.

“Shut up, bird brain.”

“Do you have any other classes together?” Bruce continued as if Dick hadn’t spoken, resting his hands on the table top and leaning forward.

Jason shook his head, beginning to regret using this topic as a distraction.  At least they had stopped fighting.

“No, only English.  But we’re partners for our midterm project, so we study after school together.”

“Is she cute?” Dick asked, his smirk devious.

“Why does that matter?” Jason shot back, scowling now.

“It’s just a question, Jay.” Dick laughed, resting his chin on his fist.  “But she’s cute, isn’t she?”

“Would you _quit_ _it_ with that?”

“Note that’s not a no.”

“Why do you even care-”

“ _Boys_.” Bruce’s baritone quieted the growing argument between his sons and Dick settled back into his seat with a mischievous grin on his face.  Jason glowered at him.

“Is she in your grade?”

He turned back to Bruce and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s a junior.  She said she _could_ qualify next semester to be a first semester senior if she wanted to take some extra credit courses over winter break for early graduation, but Rory said she-”

“ _Rory?”_

“Shut _up_ , Dickhead!” Jason shouted, blushing furiously at Dick’s laughter.  Ace whined from under the table and Bruce shot him a look.

“Jason, don’t yell at your brother.”

Jason didn’t bother suppressing an eye roll as he shoved back from the table, whistling for Ace as he stood.

“I forgot my books in my room.” He definitely hadn’t, but it was a good excuse as any to escape as he stalked towards the doorway, the dog on his heels.

“Tell _Rory_ we said hello.” Dick called after him and Jason just stomped up the stairs in response.

* * *

It had not occurred to Jason until he was literally walking through the door to first period that he would have to sit next to Rory for an entire hour and pretend that he _hadn’t_ just completely and utterly violated her privacy less than ten hours prior.

His mouth felt like cotton as he sat in his seat, trying to read the next chapter in _David Copperfield_ , but he realized after a few minutes that he had been staring at the same wall of text and hadn’t absorbed anything since he had sat down.

Tossing the book onto the table, he groaned quietly to himself and let his head drop onto his crossed arms, giving into the momentary urge to cocoon himself in his self-loathing.

“It’s just another day,” he murmured to himself, trying to quell the rising tide of panic in his throat.  “Just play it cool, everything’s the same as it was yesterday.”

“Morning.”

With a startled gasp, Jason suddenly found himself sideways, on the ground with his chair resting heavily on his shins.  He looked up to see Rory, her eyes wide and expression shocked.

He rose to his feet and righted his chair, ignoring the laughter from the rest of the class as he sat down again, avoiding Rory’s gaze.  _Just kill me now_.  He bemoaned to himself as his seating partner also took her seat.

“Are you okay?” she asked slowly, reaching out to touch his arm.  Before she made contact, Jason had jerked out of her reach and turned in his seat to fix her with a shaky grin.

“Yeah, yeah, never better.  Why, are you okay?” he rushed and a very large part of him, way more than eighty-percent, wanted to bang his head against the table until it cracked.  _Get a **grip,** Todd!_

Rory was now staring at him with outright concern on her face, her eyes a little wary.

“I’m fine,” she began, her brow furrowed.  “Jason, did you hit your head?”

“When?”

**_What_ ** _?_

Rory raised an eyebrow.

“Just now, when you fell out of your seat.  Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again, leaning towards him.  He scooted back an equal amount.

“Oh, that.  Yeah, no, I’m good just…tired.” He finished lamely.

_Oh my god, end me now._

Rory, to her credit, didn’t look halfway towards convinced.

“You’re…tired.”

“Yep, exhausted.”

“And that caused you to fall out of your chair.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a beat before Rory exhaled and rocked back into her seat.

“Okay, Jason, if you don’t wanna tell me what’s going on, that’s fine but please just say it so I’m not wasting my time trying to help.”

Hearing the disappointment and twinge of hurt in her voice, Jason scrambled to correct her.

“No!  No, no I do want to tell you it’s just,” he broke off, exhaling sharply and raising a hand to rub at his eyes.  Okay, so maybe Bruce had a point about weeknight patrols, he really _was_ tired.  “It’s complicated.”

“I’m starting to get that.” The brunette quipped.

Jason gave her a weak smile and fiddled with the buttons on his jacket cuff. 

“I had a fight with Bruce last night, and it’s kind of throwing me off my game.” He admitted what was actually not a total lie, the argument from the night before was weighing heavily on his mind.  He glanced up to see Rory’s eyes soften and this time when she leaned towards him, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it?” she murmured, and Jason simply shrugged, avoiding her gaze once more.  Seeing her eyes so close only made him return to the night before, when all he could see in her gaze was anger and desperation.  Having them in close proximity made his stomach churn in ways he couldn’t quite make out.

“It was stupid, sometimes he just treats me like I’m ten years old.  Words and sentences come out of my mouth and I know he’s listening but it’s like he just doesn’t want to-”

“Hear you?” Rory cut in softly and he raised his gaze to see her smiling at him in a way that was so bittersweet he almost choked. 

Rory reached out and lightly pushed his shoulder, a teasing upturn to her lips. 

“I get it.”

Jason wanted to question her further, wanted to ask her questions about her daisy white bedroom, her blue comforter cover, the stench of alcohol so strong that it wafted from the place where the woman – Calliope – had grabbed her, and question her about how deeply she really understood the feeling of speaking but not being heard. 

But no matter how strong the desire, he had to swallow it back.

Neither said anything further as the last bell rang and Mathers entered the room, and they did not return to the subject for the rest of class.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I am sitting in an internet café trying to get this chapter out because my house has no internet. Life just does not want me to write this story.
> 
> I’m hoping to get the next chapter out a few weeks into the New Year, but please be patient, I’m trying my best here.
> 
> I’d be honored by a late Christmas present in the form of a review or two.
> 
> Til next time,
> 
> -Rose


	5. More than Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason has words, an unexpected development brings classmates together, the school does not burn down - much to Dick and Alfred's shock, Ace is adorable as always, Jason puts his foot down, a truce is reached, Bruce is a little too bad at poker and the game is afoot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t opened Word in so long that when I opened this chapter, I got a little “Welcome Back!” banner and now I just feel shame.
> 
> I gotta be honest with you guys, I’ve been going through some really tough stuff this past year, which is to explain my absence (sorry).
> 
> But I have tell you, I just finished reading the latest Red Hood and the Outlaws comics and- 
> 
> Boy do I wish I could throw Scott Lobdell down a hole. You think you have something good, something on track, something even mildly cohesive and then Lobdell comes in and burns it to the ground.
> 
> The only good thing that has come out of this is that this has lit the fire under my ass to fix whatever just happened, so here we are.
> 
> However, we also have DC Young Justice: Outsiders to celebrate and not to spoil anything, but it’s given me a TON of inspo!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this story – I will never give up on it! It will be finished eventually. On top of everything else, I recently lost my story plan journal and had to start from scratch, but I have everything in order now, and am very eager to get going on this.
> 
> With that, here we go.

“Mr. Todd, a word?”

Mather’s baritone froze Jason in his tracks; a statue in a sea of students hurriedly rushing out the door to get to their next class. 

Rory paused in front of him, her gaze questioning when she turned, noticing he wasn’t trailing behind her.  He gave her a tiny nod, an okay to continue on without him, and with one last glance between Mathers and Jason, she disappeared into the hallway.

He turned back to his professor, who was leaning casually on the edge of his desk.

Truth be told, Jason liked Mr. Mathers.  He was kind of a hardass, and never really showed any sort of emotion, but his lessons were interesting and engaging and he was a teacher who didn’t make Jason want to poke his eyes out with a pair of rusty scissors. 

That being said, it was still unnerving to be called back after class for a private audience.  He wracked his brain furiously for anything he could have done to warrant a one-on-one conversation but came up empty.  If there was one thing more uncomfortable than being singled out, it was being singled out and having absolutely no idea why.

Mathers waited for the last student to finally trickle out before his gaze turned back to Jason.

“Something you need, sir?” Jason asked, adjusting the strap of his bag in a motion he refused to admit to himself was nervous. 

“Yes, I wanted to inform you about a change to the elective plan.  You signed up for my Classic Literature elective, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” It was one of the only electives Jason had even remotely considered signing up for. 

He remembered Bruce teasing him that he’d be drowning in Jane Austin before the new year, but Jason didn’t mind.  His logic at the time of sign up was that the more time he spent with his nose in a book was less time he had to waste “socializing” or something ridiculous like that.  Like Mathers’ English class, Jason had been looking forward to his chosen elective since mid-August.

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that with how the course schedule has shaken out I’m unable to conduct it this semester.” Mathers gave him a grim look before reaching behind him to grab something off the desk.

Jason’s stomach sank.

“Give this,” Mathers handed him a slip of paper which at the top read in bold letters: **ELECTIVE TRANSFER NOTICE** “to your advisor after you’ve chosen a new elective.”  He gestured to the door and picked up his grading book.  “You’re dismissed.” 

“Sir-”

“Thank you, Mr. Todd.” The teacher didn’t even look up from his papers as he gestured again towards the door, and Jason had no choice but to leave.

He had to refrain from stomping as he exited the classroom, a deep-set scowl carved into his face.  First, he had to deal with the fallout from the garden party fiasco, which three days into October he was _still_ getting mocked for, the stitches incident (he couldn’t show his face around Nurse Karen’s office, and had to find another place to take refuge when he needed a break) and now he had to find another elective, which he’d be stuck with the entire year.

Jason’s hand itched towards his pocket for his cigarettes.

“That’s a pretty snarly face you got there, Todd.”

Jason looked up from scowling at the floor to see Rory leaning against the row of lockers adjacent to the classroom door, her arms folded across her chest and a tiny smile on her lips.

He tried to ignore the squirming feeling that emerged in the pit of stomach at the idea that she had _waited_ for him.  The moment faded as the paper in his grasp crinkled; his grip had for some reason tightened as his stomach had when he saw Rory, and he came back into the present.

“It’s honestly just my face.” He deadpanned and walked past her, groaning internally at the thought of his German II class that he was now at least five minutes late for.

Rory fell into step beside him, he could see her tilting her head to study his profile out of the corner of his eye.

“What did Mathers’ want?  Are you in _trouble_?” Rory teased lightly.  Jason shrugged a little helplessly, the idea of facing the elective switch bringing him down once more.  He handed the crumpled paper to her without a word.

There really wasn’t a reason for him to be so down about the elective swap, it wasn’t as if it was the end of the world – in all honesty, everything else that was going on in his _after-hours_ life was far more stressful than the canceled class.

But the concept of it all made Jason want to scream in frustration.  Whenever he got close to something he wanted, _really_ wanted, it seemed to shimmer and then disappear like mist before he could grasp it.  It wasn’t fair, and he was starting to get sick of the taste of anti-climax.

“That sucks.” Rory said, snapping the black-haired boy out of the depths of his self-reflectance.  She offered him back the transfer notice, which he took and angrily stuffed into his bag.

“Do you have any idea what you want to pick?” Rory asked lightly, and Jason shrugged again. 

“Not really, I was thinking possibly asking for a work-study position instead – maybe in the library.” 

“That sounds lonely and kind of boring.” Rory commented, and Jason turned to stare at her, his eyes wide with offense.

“ _Books_ are not _boring_.” He stated emphatically, impassioned as if Rory had insulted his first-born child.

 “I never said _books_ were boring, but sitting in the library everyday – away from the rest of the populous save that one librarian that smells like Swiss cheese-”

 “Her name is Dolores and she’s lovely.” Jason interrupted.  Rory gave him a look and he closed his mouth.

“ _As_ I was saying, being kept away from everyone else seems lonely.  I think the point of electives are to actually _see_ people.”

“Books are kinder than people.” He said offhandedly and had honestly meant it as a joke until he noticed Rory drop off into silence next to him. 

He turned to face her and was met with her wide-eyed blue gaze.

“That’s sad, Jason.” She murmured, and the empathy that dripped from her words forced his eyes to the floor. 

All he could think to do was shrug, and the two fell into a ringing quiet once again.

A few beats of absolute silence passed between them when Jason mustered the courage to peek over at Rory.  Except she wasn’t there.

Stopping short and turning back, he spied her halfway down the hallway, staring at a bulletin board. 

“Earth to Rory?” he called out as he backtracked to collect her.  At this point they were both going to get tardies, and he knew that her class was nowhere near the wing his was in.  “I thought we were sulking about me and my problems?”

Just before he reached her, Rory turned and sprung towards him as if she had been electrocuted.  She reached out to the bulletin board beside her and tapped one of the flyers excitedly. 

“I think I just found a solution to your little elective issue.”

Jason peered closer, the words **HEATHERS: THE MUSICAL** glaring down at him in bold print on mint green paper.

Jason blinked, Rory’s devious smile making his head spin.

“I prefer to read plays, not humiliate myself whilst trying to act in them, thanks.  And I can’t sing.”

Rory rolled her eyes in a playful motion. 

“Have a little faith, will you?  You won’t have to get on stage.”

Before he could inquire further as to exactly what part in a _musical_ would exempt him from being physically on stage, the second bell rang loudly over their heads.

Rory glanced up at the clock on the nearby wall before turning back to Jason.

“Meet me in the courtyard for lunch today, okay?  And don’t fill out that form before you see me!” she called down the hallway as she began making her way towards the east wing of the school.  He didn’t even have time to reply before she turned a corner, disappearing.

Then he was alone in the hallway, standing next to the bulletin board and the shriek of the bell still ringing in his ears.

* * *

Despite his skepticism about whatever Rory was planning, Jason found himself in the courtyard at 11:59, scanning the manicured lawn for any trace of the brunette girl. 

Just as he was about to give up and head back inside to the overcrowded cafeteria, a familiar voice rose above the din of the courtyard.

“Jason!  Over here!”

He turned and spotted Rory, standing on a checkered blanket under the gazebo on the far end of the lawn and waving wildly at him.  She either didn’t notice the stares of the students around her or was just indifferent to them. Four other students sat on the blanket at her feet, all looking at him curiously. 

Jason felt his anxiety spike; she hadn’t mentioned _other people_ when they parted in the hallway.

Caught between the urge to join the group or return to his earlier impulse of fleeing inside the school, Jason stood stock still on the grass.

A beat passed before Rory dropped her hand and, after conferring with the redheaded boy closest to her, hopped off the blanket and made a beeline for him. 

“So nice of you to join us.” Rory teased as she got closer, bumping him in what could have been called an affectionate display once she was within arm’s length. 

“I, uh, wasn’t aware there was going to be an _us_.” He admitted, avoiding eye contact. 

If he was being honest with himself, and decidedly not anyone else within a ten-mile radius, the prospect of sharing lunch with other people made him weirdly uncomfortable. For so long it had just been himself for company, and the idea of _socializing_ with more than just Rory was like learning to swim by being pushed into the Mariana’s Trench. 

Not that he’d ever _admit_ that.  Never.

Rory, however, didn’t even seem mildly concerned.  She shrugged her shoulders and let a teasing grin crest on her lips.

“It’s too nice of a day to sit inside, and the blanket needed one more person.” 

They made their way over to the other four students and Rory practically threw herself onto the tartan tweed, wherein the other occupants welcomed her back loudly.  Jason stood awkwardly above them all, shifting his weight from foot to foot until the girl to Rory’s right gave him a smile and turned to the redhead across from her. 

“Kyle, move over – Rory’s friend has nowhere to sit.” She chided lightly.

“Why don’t you make Dimitri move?  He’s closer!” The boy – Kyle – protested while pointing his fork at the boy whose skin was as dark as the Calla lilies that Alfred grew in the summer.

“You’re the string bean, if I move I’ll shove your girlfriend onto the grass.” Dimitri replied, then muttered under his breath in a language that Jason thought could be Swahili.

“My Abuela just embroidered this skirt for me, don’t even try it.” The girl next to Dimitri threatened lowly, filing her nails in a way that somehow came off as inherently threatening. 

“But Theo; mi amour!” Kyle wailed, only to be flicked between the eyes by his girlfriend.

“Don’t start with me, white boy.  Now move, the poor guy’s legs are probably tired.” Theo gestured up at Jason and Kyle, with what Jason believed to be faux-reluctance, shuffled over to make room.

Jason set his bag down and slowly lowered himself onto the blanket. 

“Everyone,” Rory began. “This is Jason Todd.  We have English together.” She gestured from Jason to her friends and then back again.

No one traded any shocked looks or picked up their things to start running for the hills, which was a bit of a shock.  Instead they all offered little waves or cheerful “Nice to meet you”s.

Jason was almost ready to start believing the notion that not _everyone_ in Gotham Academy was immediately a terrible person.

“That’s with Mathers, right?” Amani asked kindly.

“Yeah.” He replied tightly, feeling out of place.  

Rory, as if sensing his unease, bumped her shoulder into his again and turned a bright smile on the group.

“Jason is a genius when it comes to literature.  He’s Mathers’ favorite, not that he’d ever want to admit to _liking_ a student.” She laughed and the other four joined in.  Jason managed to crack a smile. 

 “I like books.” He shrugged. 

“You and Dimitri will have a lot to talk about, then.” Theo flicked her nail file between the two boys.

“D’s our resident book worm.  Dude can quote Dickens until the cows come home.”

“ _‘There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.’_ ” The boy in question shrugged.

“ _Great Expectations_?” Jason offered, and the taller boy gave him a toothy grin.

“The finest work of them all.”

"Ugh, not you too, Dimitri." Rory groaned, and Jason and Dimitri shared a grin at her expense.

"One day I am going to get you to see the light about the genius that is Dickens' work." Jason vowed. Dimitri extended a fist for him to bump, which he did so after a moment of hesitation.

"I would be more than happy to help with that." He laughed.

“I feel a bromance a’ brewin’.” Kyle whistled, and Dimitri smacked him upside the head.

“Eat your food, string bean.” Dimitri chided, but even Jason could see the warmth in his tone as he teased his friend.  The boy’s dark eyes flickered up to Jason and he gave him an inquisitive glance. 

“So, Rory tells us you have a bit of a problem, and that we may be able to help.”

 Jason raised an eyebrow, his eyes moving to Rory and her unapologetic grin.

 It took a beat before the truth of the situation dawned on him.

“This is a gang.” He accused.  “You’re ganging up on me.”

“A _friendly_ gang who can help.” She countered, somehow managing to make biting into a piece of celery seem like a victory lap. 

“You’re the gang leader!” 

“Why do we have to be a gang?  Can’t we be something, like, not associated with organized crime and minority criminalization culture?” Theo chimed in, abandoning her nail file for a moment.

“We could be the Justice League!  They’re a friendly not-gang.” Kyle submitted, and Theo high fived him.

“If this is the Justice League, then I call dibs on Wonder Woman.” Amani raised a hand.

“Green Lantern, the black one – obviously.” Dimitri chimed in.

“It’s a tie between Batman or Superman for me honestly.” Kyle threw in.  His girlfriend rolled her eyes.

“Because you’re our fearless leader?” Theo quirked a brow.

“I was thinking more because of my chiseled physique, but that works too. 

It took all Jason had to keep a straight face. 

“Alright Justice Dorks.” Rory laughed, quieting the rest of the group.  “Before we continue the role playing, can we please get back to the topic at hand?”

“Oh, right.” Dimitri rummaged through his bag for a moment before pulling out a few sheets of paper.  He laid them in front of Jason, tapping the cover page gently.

“I work stage crew for the performing arts department, and we could always use more hands on deck.  Rory mentioned your lack of elective and thought maybe you’d like to join our merry band of misfits.” The other boy gave him an encouraging half-smile and pushed the papers closer to Jason.

He picked them up gingerly, taking a few minutes to read them over.  Another one of Bruce’s endless rules; when you’re handed paperwork – read _everything_. 

Once he was finished, Jason set the pages down gently and met Dimitri’s gaze.

“How many days a week does it meet?” he questioned.  Dimitri, to his credit, didn’t balk at the sudden dip in the conversation’s laissez faire attitude.

“Three times after school – Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and every day during 8th period and lunch if necessary.  Tech week is two weeks before break, we meet every day after school then right up until the dress rehearsals.” Dimitri pointed to the corresponding points on the documents he had handed Jason. 

“We do most of the heavy lifting during rehearsals and performances too – moving sets, props and the like.  We’re the backbone of the show, which is also why you need a signed permission form to say that the school isn’t liable if we accidentally drop some two-by-fours on you during construction.” He finished.  Jason took a moment to consider his options.

He was already meeting with Rory twice a week for their King Lear project on Tuesdays and Thursdays, adding in the three days for stage crew would officially book up all of his weekday after-school time.  Add that to his _special_ after school activities, it was going to be a major juggling act.  On top of school work and training to boot, not to mention college applications coming up further into the fall. 

The entire situation made Jason’s head swim a bit, and he could only imagine Alfred’s reaction to finding out the extra strain being voluntarily put on his youngest charge.  He wasn’t so sure how Bruce would react either, always the man to preach balance in one’s life, despite working himself to the bone daily with little evidence of relaxation. 

_Do as I say, not as I do._ Jason mused.

It was going to be hard, that was clear.  But looking up from the papers and into the hopeful – _friendly_ – faces of the people who he had barely just met, Jason felt a spark of something that tasted a lot like hope in the back of his throat. 

“I mean, it beats being the water boy for the soccer team.” He admitted and glanced at Rory, who had a grin on her face that was growing by the second. 

“Alright, J-man joins the team!” Kyle whooped, throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulders.  There was a small cheer that went up and the others began chatting jovially. 

Jason turned to Rory, who after sharing a quiet remark with Amani, glanced his way.

  _Thank you_.  He mouthed.  Her smile, if possible, stretched even wider and she gave him a little shake of her head.

  _No_ , she mouthed back.  _Thank **you**._

* * *

When Jason got home that afternoon, he was in a strikingly good mood.  He was in such a good mood, in fact, that he barely noticed Dick sitting at the kitchen counter as he walked in.

“What’s with the grin, Little Wing?” he asked through a bite of salmon. 

Jason shrugged as he deposited his bookbag onto the table.  “Nothing, I just had a good day at school.”

Dick choked and began coughing violently. 

Jason turned, raising an eyebrow as he watched the former Robin dislodge a piece of fish from his windpipe.

“Everything okay?” He asked slowly, not completely sure he wanted to know the answer.

 “Y-yeah, just caught me off guard there.” Dick coughed, thumping himself on the chest.  “I’m sorry did you say you had a good day at school?”

“Y-es?” Jason drawled, confused and slightly reluctant.

“I don’t understand, did the building burn down or something?”

“What? I can’t just be in a good mood?” Jason asked. 

“Not after you come home from school, no.  Last week you said that place was worse than the time you got kidnapped by Babydoll and she forced you to play dress up for like nine hours.” 

At that moment, Alfred entered the kitchen with Ace on his heels.  The dog trotted up to Jason and enthusiastically greeted him, jumping up and resting his front paws on Jason’s lower stomach.

“Hey, Wonder Dog, how’s it hanging buddy?” Jason ruffled the dog’s fur, laughing as Ace tried to jump up to lick his face.

“Down, Ace.” Alfred commanded from across the room where he was refilling the dog’s water bowl.  

“Hey, Alfie.” Dick started, pushing his now cleared plate away from him.  “Did Jason tell you about his day at school?” 

The butler picked up the plate and set it in the sink before Dick could protest.

“Not in particular detail, though he did seem less aggrieved that usual this afternoon.” 

“Any idea why?” Dick questioned and pointedly ignored Jason’s continent-sized eyeroll.

“Well, naturally, I believed the building had burned to the ground.”

“Alfred!”

“Merely a joke, Master Jason.  I did, though, notice your mood as of this afternoon has been more, shall I say, jovial than usual.”

“Could it be the interaction with a certain young lady whose name begins with R and ends in Ory?” Dick ribbed further, and Jason growled at him. 

“What are you even still doing here?  I thought you were avoiding this place like the plague.”

“First, rude, I come by to hang out with Alfred all the time when I have a day off.  Second, I’m doing laundry since the machine is broken in my building.” 

“You really must call your super about that dreadful excuse of an apartment, Master Dick.”

“I know, it’s getting to the point of smelling like Jason’s gym bag.”

“Okay, you know what,” Jason exclaimed, picking up his bag from the table and gently shoving Ace back down onto all fours. “I’m taking the one member of this family that _hasn’t_ made fun of me today on a walk.” He motioned for Ace to follow him towards the door, only to have Alfred’s signature throat clearing stop him in his tracks.

“Master Bruce requested both Master Dick and your presence in the study.” The butler said.  Jason groaned and even Dick’s shoulders tensed.

“Ah, Alfie, I would love to, but I really have to-”

“I do believe keeping Master Bruce waiting would lessen your chances of fleeing the premises before sundown, Master Dick.” Alfred deadpanned, and the brothers exchanged less than thrilled glances. 

“Alright,” Dick sighed and hooked an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “into the Bat’s den.” 

* * *

Bruce was waiting for them in his study.  He was seated behind his large mahogany desk, reading over some work papers as his two sons slunk into the room as quietly and as possible.

Dick hummed the Jaws theme song under his breath as they entered, earning him an elbow to the gut from Jason.

“Glad you two could join me.” Bruce called out, not looking up from his papers.  Dick took a seat on the couch while Jason elected to lean against one of the armchairs closer to the door.

“Well Alfred sealed all the exits, so what choice did we have?” Dick attempted to joke, but his tight smile and even tighter voice gave away his reluctance to be there.

Bruce leveled him with an unamused stare, and the elder Wayne ward conveniently found somewhere else to direct his gaze.

“What’s up?” Jason piped up, and Bruce stood from behind the desk, electing to instead move to the front and lean against it.

“Tonight, we’re going back to the site of the Vide Shipping Co. fire.  Half of the neighborhood’s population has now been displaced, and a fair number of those people are suffering from catastrophic injuries due to the fire, flooding the local hospitals.  This was too large of a blaze to be an accident.”

“You’re sure it was arson?” Jason asked, interest now piqued.

“There is a chance that it was an accidental fire but judging by the conversation I had with Commissioner Gordon last night and the magnitude of the blast, it’s unlikely.” 

“This means we’re going back to do some good ol’ detective work?” the youngest Wayne charge asked with a raise of his eyebrow.  Bruce graced him with a brief flash of a smile before his expression hardened. 

“Exactly.”

“So, ah, why exactly am I here?” Dick spoke for the first time, his posture rigid.  Bruce mirrored him, and his arms tightened across his chest.

“I need someone patrolling the rest of the city while Jason and I deal with the fire remains.”

Dick seemed to relax slightly but still frowned.

“So, what, I’m just supposed to screw off and leave Bludhaven for the night?  I’ve got my own shit going on there you know, Bruce.” Dick argued, and Jason could tell this was going to get ugly the second Bruce’s gaze cut back to Dick, full of ice.

“All of the _riveting_ petty drug busts in Bludhaven aside, Richard, I need you here.  One night away is not going to be the end of the world.”

“Oh yeah my _petty_ drug busts of 600 kilos of cocaine being smuggled into the docks, right.  If I asked you to abandon Gotham for the night to help me in Bludhaven, you’d tell me to shove it.” Dick bit back. 

“You’d never ask me, so that’s pointless speculation.”

“I’d never ask because you’d never say yes!  Tell me I’m wrong, Bruce!”

“ _Sit down, Richard._ ”

Now they were shouting.  Perfect. 

Jason wiped his hands down his face, suddenly feeling like the grownup in the room, which was messed up considering he was the only one who still had a curfew.

 This was how things were now.  Jason didn’t really remember a time when things were exactly _better_ , but they had definitely not been as tense.  For a minute there, he almost thought the original Dynamic Duo were on the path to patching things up.  Three steps forward, two steps back and all that.

But Jason had been having a great day.  Like, a _really_ great day, which never happened.  And for once, he just wanted a civil conversation between his brother and their over-protective, emotionally constipated adopted-father. 

Which is why he stood up and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” Bruce asked, taking a moment from his verbal assault on Dick, who was practically vibrating with anger.

“To get Alfred because I am sick of this bullshit.” He snapped, and that woke the older men up enough to look slightly alarmed instead of angry. 

“Jason…” Bruce started, but the younger vigilante wasn’t having it.

“No!” He shouted, a satisfied feeling when both Dick and Bruce were shocked into silence at his outburst.  “I have had _enough_ of you two fighting like this.  It’s the same damn song and dance every time – you say something dictatorial and abrasive,” he pointed at Bruce and then turned on Dick, “and you pounce on it like a mouse in a trap!  Aren’t you, like, tired of this constant back and forth?  Because I sure as hell am."

The two previously warring heroes had the grace to look a little chastised.  Jason took a breath and slumped against the door.

“I’m not asking you two to kiss and makeup and be a happy little family, because I know that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” A look of hurt flashed across both of their faces, and Jason secretly wondered if he was wrong about that one, “but you can at _least_ be civil, at least when I’m around.  All this conflict between two out of the three male figures in my life is probably screwing up my developing psyche or some shit.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.  “You’re reading the psychology books in the library again, aren’t you?”

“I was bored.  Regardless, can you two, like, call a truce?  At least for now?” Jason pleaded, and there was a tense moment where Bruce and Dick simply eyed each other.

“Fine.” They said in unison and Jason could have cried with relief if not for the social constraints of toxic masculinity.

Yeah, he really needed to lay off those psychology books.

“Awesome.  Are we’re dismissed or what?  Because I have a history exam that I need to study for.” Jason jerked a thumb into the door.

 “Not done, take a seat.” Bruce gestured the couch and Jason’s stomach dropped. 

“Is this the other shoe?” He asked Dick in a whisper as Bruce was distracted with rifling through the papers on his desk.

The older man shrugged.  “You think I know?” he answered just as quietly.

Jason sighed and sat, waiting with bated breath as Bruce approached him, a piece of cardstock in his hand.

He dropped it into Jason’s lap, and Jason read the script front with a furrowed brow.

_“You are cordially invited to the Gotham Fall Classic, where we celebrate the finest of Gotham’s equestrian community-_ you’re going to a horse show?” Jason asked, confused.

“No,” Bruce corrected, “ _we’re_ going to a horseshow.” He gestured to both of them and then gave a moment for the information to sink in.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re making me go to a gala at a horse show?  Why?” Jason gaped.

“Because the Wayne Foundation has been a sponsor of the Classic for years – we have a box there along with several important members of the board.  It’s important that we’re seen supporting the Classic, as well as the charities it benefits.” Bruce said diplomatically.  Jason translated the smirk that followed as _you thought you were getting off scot-free, didn’t you._  

“But-but-” Jason protested weakly, and Bruce shrugged, moving to sit back behind his desk.

“Think of it as a way to broaden your horizons – you might even enjoy yourself, I always do.”

“Why don’t you take Dick?  He’s better at schmoozing than I am.” Jason asked, gesturing to the older man at the other end of the room, who shook his head.

“I did my time, Little Wing.  It’s your turn to be the sacrificial lamb.” Dick said before making his exit.

_Traitor_.  Jason thought.

Jason looked to Bruce pleadingly, but the patriarch only raised an eyebrow. 

“Next time you might think before going radio silent on patrol.  The Classic is next weekend, so make sure you know where your good sport coat is, as well as a tie and pocket square that _match_.” Bruce emphasized, and Jason couldn’t help the eye roll that emerged.

“As if Alfred would let me out the door without making sure everything was ‘presentable’.” He huffed, a scowl settling over his face as he thought about the nautical penguin suit he’d have to don to go and watch a bunch of horses run around in a circle for an entire afternoon.

“May I be excused now?” he asked a little petulantly, and Bruce nodded. 

He was halfway to the door before Jason remembered his permission slip.

“Oh wait, can you sign something for me?” he asked, moving to his bag and pulling out the slightly crumpled paper.

“What is it?” Bruce asked, ever the businessman.

“A permission slip.” Jason slid the paper towards Bruce.  The billionaire picked it up, scanned it quickly and then gave Jason a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Stage crew?  Since when did you like carpentry?”  

Jason shrugged. “They canceled Mathers’ elective, and stage crew looks good on college apps.  Also, a few of my friends are in it.” He finished, using the word ‘friends’ gingerly as if it sounded odd on his tongue. 

Bruce blinked, looking surprised before a small smile began to emerge on the edge of his lips. 

“Oh, please don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” Bruce asked, the picture of innocence.  Jason gave a frustrated huff and gestured to Bruce’s face. 

“That.”

“Jason, I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re smiling.”

“This is my normal face.” 

“Bruce!" 

“I can’t be happy that my kid is making friends at school?” Bruce asked, the annoying grin still on his lips.

“If I was eight, sure, but I’m seventeen, Bruce, come on.  You don’t have to throw a parade every time I make a buddy connection.” Jason flopped down into the armchair on the opposite side of the desk. 

“I just think it’s great that you’re…branching out.” Bruce shrugged, trying his hardest not to be the overbearing parent.

He was, admittedly, failing miserably.

“Please don’t make this a thing.” Jason groaned. 

“I’m not!  I’m just glad you’re finally finding your group.”

“Okay, please, end this torture and sign the damn thing.” Jason begged, and Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Watch your language.” He reprimanded lightly before returning his gaze to the paper.

“You can balance all of this?  It’s a hefty commitment.” Bruce asked, his gaze void of doubt or judgement, just stark curiosity.  Jason nodded.

“My class schedule is flexible enough the first semester, and it looks good on my transcript to have an extracurricular like stage crew on it – shows versatility.  Colleges love that stuff.” Jason kicked the edge of the desk, swallowing after the word _college_ left his lips.  One bridge at a time.

Bruce’s gaze was heavy, but he thankfully didn’t go further with the topic.  He picked up a pen from the holder on his desk and with one neat flick of his wrist had signed the paper right on the dotted line. 

He handed the slip back to Jason, a smile blooming across the Wayne patriarch’s lips.

“So, this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Miss Stathos, would it?” 

_“Bruce.”_  

“I’m just curious!” 

* * *

 Any childish excitement had vanished by the time Bruce and Jason had suited up and embarked on patrol. 

Returning to the smoldering pile of ash that had once been the Vide Shipping Company’s warehouse, they met Commissioner Gordon in a darker corner of the now abandoned street. 

“Batman.” Gordon greeted, his glasses glinting off the flickering street lamps above them. 

“Commissioner.” Batman’s growl used to be something that struck fear into the police commissioner, but now it was as common as the sirens that wailed in the night of Gotham. 

“Sup, Commish.” Robin chirped from beside the Dark Knight.  

If the Jim Gordon had been anyone else, he might have missed the minuscule sigh and tightening of the jaw that came from the Batman.  But Jim Gordon, being the detective that he was, did in fact catch it, and it brought him no shortage of amusement that he had to hide behind a moderately convincing cough.  

He had seen that look many times when staring into the mirror after one of Barbara’s parent-teacher conferences.   _You can hide your identity, Batman, but no father can hide **that** look_.  Jim thought with something that could have been a fondness for the duo. 

“Hello, Robin.  Nice to see you back on your feet.” Gordon greeted kindly.  The boy – he wasn’t much of a boy anymore, was he?  Nearly as tall as his partner.  Gordon recalled when he barely came up to his elbow – flashed a Cheshire grin. 

“Takes more than a pocket knife to keep me down.” He grinned but fell back into a stoic silence with one look from the Bat.

“What’s the official report?” Batman asked, and all amusement was officially swept out of the conversation.

“Officially we were lucky the whole block didn’t go up, though it sure as hell tried.” Jim sighed, and led the two over to the expansive crime scene, past the police tape and into the charred remains of what once was a massive facility.

They walked to the near center and then stopped, Jim pointing to the scorched ground.

“This was the point of ignition – the lab techs said this is the spot that burned the hottest, and longest.  The explosion originated from here.” Jim summarized.  “They tested the soot and said it had high levels of C3H6O in it.”

“Acetone?” Robin questioned, and Jim nodded. 

“Enough of it to blow this place practically sky high.  Which doesn’t add up when you look at the product list of shipments being stored in this warehouse – nothing with enough of the stuff to do this much damage was set to be stored here.” 

“This wasn’t an accident.” It wasn’t a question, and Jim nodded gravely at Batman’s statement.

“No, this was far from it.  Somebody wanted this place up in smoke, badly.”

Batman and Robin shared a look. 

“You’re sure that this was where the fire started?” Batman questioned, and Jim nodded again.  The two didn’t say anything more, they simply split up – Batman moving around the large charred circle of ground while Robin went to pace the perimeter of where the walls once were, his nose buried in the small tablet he had produced out of nowhere.

Jim was left to stand rather dumbly and watch as the World’s Greatest Detective and his protégé got to work.  It was several silent minutes before Robin returned to his mentor’s side.

“This doesn’t add up.” Robin said bluntly.

“I agree.  This ignition point isn’t logical.” Batman grumbled.  Robin nodded and pointed to the blueprints on his screen.  Both Batman and Jim peered closer.

“There was a large heating unit in the far corner over there,” he jerked a thumb behind him, “that would have been close enough to one of the emergency exits to be the better target.  Not to mention, more chance for the fire to catch on the insulation in the walls.” The Boy Wonder finished with a frown, and his partner picked up where the younger left off.

“So why would the perpetrator pick this spot as an ignition spot, instead of the more logical heating unit?” Batman phrased the question in the same way Jim had heard his training officer do many years before when he was just a beat cop.  _This is a lesson._ Jim came to the realization.  _Bat-training in action._

 “My guess?  He’s inexperienced but overeager.  A first-time offender who had enough motive to want everything gone.”

“Arsonists usually only want to destroy property, this fire claimed six lives.” Jim chimed in, following along, “This isn’t some kid starting a dumpster fire.”

“No.” The Batman growled.  “There was something in this warehouse that someone wanted gone.  The question now is what was it, and why did they go to such extremes to see it gone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that’s done!
> 
> I am so excited to get this chapter out – I again apologize for how long this took.
> 
> I did so much arson research for this story, this chapter and later ones included. The FBI definitely thinks I’m either planning a murder or trying to be the next Sherlock Holmes. Oh well. 
> 
> We’re getting into the real plot now people!
> 
> Please, feel free to leave a review or two, it motivates me more than you know!
> 
> Lady Skynet, nomnomthegreat, Rainlight2427, all the amazing guests and recent reviewers on FF, you guys rock, I adore all of you – here’s hoping this was worth the wait!
> 
> Cerusee, Rosiecat23, LovelyWords98, Melody on Ao3 – you guys are so sweet, this chapter was made with your words and inspiration in mind!! Thank you guys so much 
> 
> Til next time (hopefully not another year!)
> 
> \- Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Id highly recommend listening to Sermon by James Arthur throughout this story, the song is beautiful and inspired a lot of it.


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